I don't know exactly when it started, but for some time now Alexis has been partaking in a little self-service chocolate indulgence. Whenever she figured out how to open our fridge, she figured out that if she opens the vegetable drawer and peeks under the bags of carrots and lettuce, she'll find an ancient bag of Hershey Kisses. Once or twice a week she will veer from her usual alien diet of Lima beans and raspberries and head for the drawer, select exactly one Hershey Kiss, carefully unwrap it over top of the trash can, and continue on with life with a happy mouth full of chocolate. Nobody forces her to take only one. It's a self-imposed rule, and one that keeps me from even caring that she does it.
I took note of this bit of self-sufficiency and immediately realized that I? totally can benefit from this skill. One of my must-have cookie concoctions at Christmas is Peanut Butter Kiss cookies. I lurve them, but I hate unwrapping all the Kisses. A few years ago I managed to find bags of them not in wrappers, but I guess I'm the only one that considers unwrapping 100 pieces of candy a form of torture, because I haven't seen them since.
This Saturday a bunch of Pittsburgh moms who blog are getting together for a little cookie swap, so tonight I set out to make six dozen of those little buggers. It took all of two seconds to get Alexis to volunteer to help me, so I stuck her up on a stool and set her to work unwrapping Kisses. All the while, I was smiling to myself because I AM an evil genius. An evil genius who had found a way to not have to unwrap Kisses.
Alexis deliberately unwrapped and unwrapped, carefully placing the Kisses in a bowl as she was done with them. As I rolled the dough in sugar, I helped her count her progress and she was all sorts of excited. She made slow progress, but eventually made it to ten. I glanced down to scoop another spoonful of dough then glanced up.
The bowl was empty.
There were no unwrapped Kisses anywhere.
I may be an evil genius, but I didn't take into account that self-imposed rules get kicked to the curb once a kid figures out she can fit ten Kisses in her mouth at one time.
By the time you are old enough to read all this, you will most certainly already know this, but I hate Mornings. Like, HATE them. If I had my way, the day wouldn't start until double digits. Even then, I would much rather have a coffee enema while having my nose hairs plucked out one-by-one that have to face the day before lunch. Mornings and me? Not on friendly terms. At all.
Sadly, I am forced to co-exist with my enemy Mornings. Being an adult comes with sometimes doing things you don't like, so I wake up at 6:30 every day and tolerate Mornings. Recently, however, I have taken things a step further. I've been getting up an EXTRA 15 minutes early. For you. Just for you.
See, it recently started snowing again, and you, YOU are in love. Nothing makes you quite as happy as sticking your tongue out like a landing strip for snow flakes as you weave an intricate recreation of Swan Lake in the yard. It pleases you immensely, and I would happily let you play outside all evening long, but my other enemy Daylight Savings Time means it is dark by the time we get home. So, if you want to play in the snow and actually SEE the flakes, it's got to be in the AM. Before work. Early. I have to get up earlier so you can play in the snow.
I only mention this because there will be a day when you are trying to decide between the nursing home that promises to wipe my butt hourly and one who promises to do it every four hours. Pick the one-hour service, please. It will make me happy. Not as happy as snow makes you, but still.
The Woman Who Loves Snow Just as Much as You Do