HOLIDAY BAKING: The “Try Not To Spend All Your Money Or Make Me Fat” Edition

My daughter likes to cook, and bake. And as I may or may not have mentioned in past blogs (I can’t really remember much of anything these days – thanks perimenopause), she is the owner/operator of one extremely exclusive, extremely strict – to the point of being oppressive and downright disparaging – restaurant called “Chez Tess”.

OK, so “Chez Tess” is just her cooking for our family and forcing us to eat her food – when, where, and exactly HOW she says (down to every last painful “no you can’t go to the washroom, it’s time to eat, sit down at the goddamn table” detail), but whatever. We’ve given this recurring experience a name because all such things need to be formally acknowledged and/or documented. Just in case.

HOLIDAY BAKING: The "Try Not To Spend All Your Money Or Make Me Fat" Edition | TheFurFiles

So today, with the holiday season fast approaching – or at least a month to go – she declared (in no uncertain terms, as she usually does with everything) that it was “time” for Christmas baking to start. Now, any normal person would rejoice in the fact that their daughter would take it upon herself to plan and prepare an elaborate menu for cookie and dessert making, which she would do ALL on her own, which would indeed TASTE delicious – because she IS a good cook, after all.

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Up until a few days ago, we were puppy-sitting my younger son’s crazy little dog – Wolfie Junior. OK, sorry Sylvia, he’s not crazy per se; he’s just really busy and needy and he bites feet and faces and eats paper and slippers and everything he shouldn’t, but from what I’ve heard is pretty normal for dogs, but which also (according to Charles) is MY fault. He’s not like that at home apparently.

Now, you have to understand, I am not used to dogs – having to constantly tell them to leave these things alone and to STOP sticking their nose in my underwear. Jesus, cats don’t need the reminder. Nor am I used to letting animals suffer needlessly in crates if I can help it. And this dog does NOT like his crate. So like the softy that I am, I’ve just been either staying home with him, or making my daughter or other son or husband do the same, or taking him everywhere I go. Yeah, he’s being totally spoiled.

MOTHERS WHO WORRY TOO MUCH: A Dog's Life Version | TheFurFiles

Anyway yesterday, I had to go with my daughter to the bank to pick up a form that she needed for work. She wasn’t sure what to ask for, so I agreed to go with her. Of course, having the dog complicated things.

In no uncertain terms, she said, “You ARE coming IN with me. I’m NOT interested in looking like an IDIOT because I don’t know what I’m talking about.” Young people and their pride – sheesh.

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How To Be Happy In 3 Simple Steps

Some days are rough, like when you get a flat tire on your way to the store to buy sour cream because SOMEBODY can’t eat fajitas without it. Yeah, people can be grumpy and difficult like that. They can also be snakes and assholes. They can get road rage, and break into your car and steal your daughter’s laptop because she was dumb enough to leave it there in the first place – in plain sight on the front seat (yes, Tess, despite your protests to the contrary, that could happen to you).

People can say things like, “You look like you have a mullet.” Thanks Charles, my son, the boy I brought into this world and for whom I’ve done a million and one things. It’s because I was exercising OK, and I had my hair in a pony tail. Sheesh!

People can pull out guns and shoot you (more likely in the United States than in Canada because our rules here are stricter – thank god), or they can simply let the door at the bank slam in your face when you are juggling groceries, two little kids – one fussy baby and a screaming toddler – a stroller, AND a coffee, because without that last item, you’d be passed out on the sofa at home, the kids (ages six months and two years) “making” dinner themselves. Some people just can’t see beyond their own feet.

Yes, I know, most of these cases are fairly insignificant, and others – like the gun example – are pretty extreme AND dangerous. No matter what though, you are not going to get through life without experiencing some really “how will I ever cope?” shit. And the kicker? You can’t control most of it. The only thing you CAN control is yourself, and how you respond to things. So for me, happiness is definitely something I try to cultivate. If I just sat around waiting for the sun to shine and awesomeness to drop into my lap, I’d be a very sad and pathetic person indeed.

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