December, 2013

The Truth Will Set You Free, But First It's Going To Piss You Off

Cookies.

You would think that Girl Scouts would run the other way from them, given that their lives are consumed by cookie sales from winter through spring.

But, oh, no, Lexi's Daisy troop was having a cookie exchange for the holidays.

Don't get me wrong. I like cookie exchanges. We do one at church, one at the store, one at Ducky's work, one at Lexi's school and one for Mother's Kennel Club group. But none of those groups has Hazel Dahl on the list.

If you've watched Food Network, you know Hazel. Every year she produces more cookies and candy than any other non-commercial kitchen on the planet. From November 1 through December 24 she stirs, browns, boils, bakes, rolls, cuts, scoops and decorates more sweet stuff than Willy Wonka and Sara Lee would want to tackle. Her garage boasts both a walk-in fridge and a walk-in freezer; plus she has a double-oven six-burner stove and not one but twoHobart mixers (the kind that sit on the floor and are the size of a Smart car). (Ducky watches the yearly special with the kind of lust most men would cast toward the Playboy channel.) Granted, she delivers huge platters to all the police stations, fire departments, hospitals and charities within several counties, not to mention friends, relatives and neighbors, so there is altruism in her overachieving… but the idea of making two or three different treats everyday for a month and a half, freezing them and assembling some 75 plus trays? Yikes.

Even for cookie exchanges, Hazel doesn't send just one batch of sugar cookies. She doesn't even send just sugar cookies and fudge. No, for the Daisy exchange she sent her daughter back with a card listing eight kinds of cookies and four types of candy that she would be sending.

Nudged by Hazel's list, most of the parents were sending more than one treat. I wasn't going to get into an anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-better with Hazel (do I look that stupid?) but I was sending three kinds of cookies and hard caramel suckers. I was just worried that Kim Lincoln's mother would throw in the towel.

Therese Lincoln is one of the nicest people you could meet. She owns a temp agency with four branch offices in DC and Virginia; when her husband died she found herself a single mom with a one-year-old baby and seventeen-year-old stepson whose mother was totally off the grid. She got Dustin through his senior year of high school and into college while learning the ropes of the temp business. The actual staff members of the agency (back then only one office) were understandably uneasy when she stepped into her husband's shoes, but they didn't need to be. She wouldn't have failed; she didn't have a choice.

But no matter how packed her schedule is, she will volunteer to drive you anywhere, will watch your kid over a holiday weekend, and will bring you soup and Jell-o when you're sick. But it's going to be canned soup and pre-made gelatin because for all her positive points… Teri can't cook and can't bake. Even boxed mac-and-cheese is a stretch.

So when we got to the library meeting room and found Kim waiting with two and a half dozen baseball-sized snowballs on a tray, I was surprised (to say the least). Teri probably asked a friend for help—and with the favors she's done everyone on the planet, who would say no?

"I decorated them!" Kim said proudly.

"Oh, Kimmy, they're lovely!" Big balls of… something… dredged in a ton of powdered sugar, each was topped with leaf-ish squiggles of green frosting and red hots—holly was my guess.

"We had powdered sugar everywhere," she confided.

"Yeah, our kitchen was kind of a mess, too." (Understatement.) "But it's fun, isn't it?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "I can't wait to try one!"

Untried treats. Cross your fingers, girls…

Not counting Hazel's offerings, we had over a hundred different kinds of treats. One leader, one assistant leader, twenty-eight girls—you can do the math. It was impressive, to say the least. The girls had been decorating shoeboxes for the past couple of weeks; when Carole and Mara started tallying up the "I will bring" cards, they hit all the stores, grabbed every shoebox available and had the girls each do three boxes. After looking at the bags, trays and platters, Mara ran out and bought gallon-sized ziplock bags for the bagged goodies and we barely came out even.

Without prompting, Lexi volunteered her stash for the family party on Christmas. "We'll never eat aw of them before they rot."

"We could put them in the freezer," Ducky suggested. "Parcel them out over the next month or two…"

"Um—it's kind of full, Daddy."

"Halloween?" I reminded him.

"Still?"

"Well, it was half-price… and I was hungry when I went to the market!" I said defensively.

He shook his head. "I think sharing the cookies is a wonderful, generous idea, Lexi."

"And we have recipe cards, too!"

"More sharing. I heartily approve."

Lexi had been eyeballing the snowball all the way home and while we cooked dinner. As Ducky cleared the plates and before she could ask, I said, "That snowball is probably some kind of cake and should be eaten soon. Would you like to have that for dessert instead of ice cream?"

"Yes, pwease! Thank you!"

"You're welcome."

The rest of us had ice cream with assorted toppings while Lexi tried to figure out how best to attack the dessert. Just before knife hit snowball, she stopped. "Would you wike a bite?" she asked politely.

"Thank you for offering." (My mother said when you hear your kid spontaneously use manners, it's a "yes, all my nagging was worth it!" moment. She's right.) "But, no thank you. I'm fine with my ice cream."

"There's only one—and you're the only Daisy," Ducky seconded.

Her manners duly noted, Lexi whacked at the ball with knife and fork. It was chocolate cake, pretty firm; maybe a brownie. I could see bits of chocolate and nuts throughout. Lexi took a big bite—

And her face froze.

Her mouth worked for a moment and her eyebrows scrunched up. She managed to politely spit the cake into her napkin. "Oh, dear. That bad?" Ducky asked.

She looked from one of us to the other. "It's okay, sweetie. It's just us; you don't have to worry about hurting Kimmy's feelings. Or her mom's."

"Oh, Mommy, it's awfo."

Guess Teri didn't have someone help her. "Is it burnt? Sour?"

She shoved it over. "Just nasty."

Didn't impel me to try it, but I did anyway.

My face froze.

"Honey," I finally managed, "you try a bite." I pushed the plate Ducky's way.

The look he gave me was a combination of "are you trying to kill me?" and "are my insurance premiums up to date?" But he took a small bite—and looked at me in shock.

Rum ball? I mouthed. He nodded. (Lousy rum ball, too.)

"Well, it's not your fault dessert was a bummer. Howzabout Daddy dishes you up some ice cream instead?"

Her face cleared. "Oh, yes, pwease!"

"May I have more ice cream, Donald?" Mother asked timidly. Dang; she had cleared her bowl while we were taste testing the rum ball from hell.

"I'd say that can be arranged," he laughed. "Hot fudge again?"

She nodded enthusiastically and Lexi piped up, "Yes, pwease! And wots of whipped cream! Pwease," she quickly added. Mother nodded again. "Could Grandma and I watch TV and eat ice cream at the same time? The Grinch Who Stow Christmas is on tonight…"

Close enough on the title… and it's only the eight zillionth time since Thanksgiving. "I guess so," I laughed.

"I'll bring out the dishes in a moment. You and Grandma get yourselves situated," Ducky said.

"And I am calling Carole Eloy," I muttered.

There was more privacy in the kitchen. Carole was stunned, to say the least. Horrified. Rum balls handed out to five-year-old girls? Was Teri out of her mind? "I'll call Teri. You call Mara and get the phone tree started, will you, please?"

"No prob." I dialed Mara's number and got a similar reaction. I called my two phone tree parents; as I hung up the phone, it rang again.

Carole. Laughing. "You won't believe this."

"Try me."

"Teri was out of town for a conference. She told the new housekeeper—a very nice lady named Trinka or Katrinka, Russian émigré with pretty good English skills—to get something from the bakery and apologize for it not being homemade. Trinka/Katrinka figured the rum balls were nice and big so it would be like two or three kinds of goodies rolled into one. She didn't think the rum was really rum, just flavoring—like butter rum Life Savers. Teri was aghast. Embarrassed. Mortified."

"No harm, no foul. I can't imagine any of the girls eating it. It was, to be kind, vile. Lexi couldn't spit it out fast enough."

"Huh. I'd better call Teri back."

"Why?"

"I want the name of the bakery—so I can avoid them!"