Spider Web Cookies, reborn

Several years ago (eight to be exact), I posted about my spider web cookies.  I have spent the last 22 years or so making these, and have improved upon the original instruction in the last few years.  Figured now was as good a time as any to reblog them.

While they will never look as perfect as decorated cookies made with royal icing, they taste a whole lot better.  Royal icing to me just ruins a perfectly good sugar cookie.  It's easier to work with than this glaze, and you can absolutely produce gorgeous pieces of art.  But they taste like styrofoam.  So why bother?  If I wanted to eat styrofoam, I'd do that.  And I'd definitely be a lot thinner.  But my life would not be worth living.

So.  Let's begin, shall we?  The key to any cookie success is in using the right sugar cookie recipe.  I use Aunt Betty's, and have finally received her consent to share it with you.

Internet, here is the secret recipe:

Before you judge too harshly, just know that they are pretty freaking delicious.  And this comes from a baking SNOB.  I am extremely particular about what cookies go in my mouth, but I'm telling you, these are delicious.  Feel free to spend all afternoon making your own.  But trust me when I tell you, these make the perfect combination with the glaze that I use.  And take no time at all.

So why mess with perfection?

Mix up a bag or two (or six) using the directions for drop cookies on the back of the bag.  Roll them into a ball, and bake as directed.  They definitely look pretty raw when they come out of the oven, but they firm up nicely.  Do not overbake.  Let the cookies cool.

Next, make up the glaze.  I got this recipe from my mother, who got it from a dear neighbor (Hi, Gayle!).  I've been eating these since childhood and have made them a staple in my own home.  It's not Halloween in our house without them.

For these cookies, the glaze should be the consistency of Elmer's glue.  Add more water or powdered sugar to achieve this.  Then using the back of a spoon, spread it onto a cookie.  I like using a spoon because the curve helps spread around the edges better than a knife.

Be sure to not apply too much glaze.  Just a thin coat is all you need.

Next, put some of the black glaze into a bag with a small writing tip, and pipe a bullseye, starting in the center of the cookie.

Using a toothpick, gently draw lines from the center of your bullseye to the edge, going all the way around the cookie.  Make sure to always go from the center out in order to keep your web lines going all the same direction.

Let the cookies set until the glaze hardens, usually about 30 minutes or so.  Top with a plastic spider ring and enjoy!

These are actually the best on the second day, so I try to make them a day ahead of whatever party I am taking them to.  Once they are set, they travel and freeze really well.

They also make an excellent lunch.  Just sayin'.

Sixteen

Dear Chase,

Today you turned 16 years old.  

Seriously.  Let me process that one for a minute.

Sigh.  When I look at pictures like this of you, I can still remember what your warm, sweet skin smelled like after a summer afternoon at the park.  I can hear your laughter and excitement as you climbed everything in sight, calling out for your brother to join you.  I can feel your tight hugs, almost suffocating, as you threw your arms around my neck and squeezed, afraid to be without me; afraid to let go.

Now I'm the one squeezing so desperately, afraid to let go.  Fighting the fact that I need to let you go.

Chase, you are growing up into such a fine man.  You are nearly six-foot-three-inches tall, and every bit of your giant frame is filled with kindness and sincerity.  You still come running most nights when you hear me cleaning up the kitchen, offering to help.  Not because you have to, but because you want to.  I love your company late at night in the kitchen.  You and I laughing, recapping the day.  It's the favorite part of my night.  Your thoughtfulness is beyond your years.  I really can't take any credit for it, either.  I'm not sure what makes you so eager to help.  Your wife will be a very lucky woman.

Right now, your biggest focus is running.  You get up, every single day, at the unholy crack of dawn.  Never grumbling, never complaining.  You drag your brother out of bed and head to early morning seminary.  Sometimes, you can only go for five or ten minutes due to your cross country practice.  But still you go.  That is dedication, my friend, that even your mother couldn't muster.  You love God.  You are striving to do what is right.  You have set a standard for yourself, and are determined to meet it.  No matter what.

You have gotten quite good at running this year.  Well, you've been quite good for a few years now.  You've pushed yourself beyond your limits and adopted a discipline that I could only dream of.  This Saturday, you will run for the first time on the varsity team, a goal you set for yourself and accomplished.  As a sophomore.

I. AM. SO. PROUD. OF. YOU.

Chase, I love you so much.  You are such a good kid.  You treat everyone you meet with kindness.  Someone told me the other day that they saw you talking to a girl from your school.  Not an ordinary feat in and of itself -- you are quite handsome and plenty of girls would kill to hang with you.  But you were talking animatedly and with a smile on your face to a girl with special needs, someone who others struggle to know how to interact with.  This does not surprise me one bit.  You have always had a heart open for everyone.  You've always treated people with courtesy and respect.  You've always been a friend to everyone.

You have my heart, kid.  As you stretch your freedom wings in the next few years, I am confident you are ready for the world has to offer.  You are more mature than most boys I know.  You have a quick mind, and a keen knack for figuring out how things work.  I've often tried to parent you by just getting out of your way.  You are going to do great things.  I can't wait to watch.

Just remember to throw me a hug once in a while, won't you?

Love you forever,

Mami

The messy bits

Sometimes I look around my life and feel utter frustration.  My kids leave their stuff laying around all. the. time.  

It makes me absolutely crazy.  

I feel like I nag and pester and remind them until I'm sick of the sound of my own voice.  The Husband is oftentimes no better.  Home only a few nights per week, he can be the worst of them all.  Guilty of leaving a trail of clothes, dry cleaning, and wet towels in his wake as he dashes off to another week.  

Today, after a brisk walk in the beautiful sunshine with my two dogs, I came home to begin the day and put the chaos back into order.  I sighed when I looked around me and saw all that I would have to do.

Instead of the usual irritation, I was hit this morning with a poignant and timely thought.

This mess that grates on my nerves tells a far different story than the one I've been seeing.

The pile of sports equipment on my kitchen counter speaks of the church youth group that Chase attended last night.  They played a sport that he does not enjoy, but he cheerfully attended and participated anyway.  The discarded equipment and hat tell me of his dedication and his heart more than they do of his forgetful nature.  He is not a boy who will simply stay home from youth group just because he doesn't like the activity.  He will go and give it his best shot.  He will support the group and do it with a smile on his face.

It speaks also to a boy who loves God, and is striving to do all that he is asked of and more.  

That is a story I might have missed had I only been mad at the mess.

The askew kitchen chairs show me that my kids sat around this table together, chatting and laughing before school.  Our morning schedules are crazy, and we are seldom all home for any extended period of time together.  But for a brief few minutes today, they looked each other in the eyes -- teased, laughed, and talked about the day ahead.

Together.

I will take a messy kitchen any day in exchange for that.

Besides, this time next year, we will have one serving a mission in some far away corner of the world.  What a blessing today that I have them all in the nest together.

A never ending grocery list and seldom-full pantry speak of healthy, growing bodies that don't go to bed hungry.  It also speaks of my ability to provide the necessary items; it speaks of plenty.  It speaks of a good job for the Husband where money is not scarce and food is a resource we are never without.  For that I am infinitely grateful.  

These thriving people accomplish quite a bit during the day, each of them working out, participating on a team, and striving to improve themselves, both physically and mentally.  They are doing well in school and have adjusted to life in Texas better than I could have hoped.  

Better, sometimes, than I feel I have.

Today I am feeling gratitude instead of petty annoyance.  I am feeling loved, instead of picked on.  I have four of the most wonderful creatures on the planet to call my own, and I would not trade them for the cleanest house or the emptiest counters.  Their messiness is proof of their existence, their health, their joy, and their place in my heart.

As Vanessa Redgrave said in Letters to Juliet, "Life IS the messy bits."

I wholeheartedly agree.

Snow Day

Texas has delivered us a little gift this week.  Monday and Tuesday, the kids and Josh were all home due to an "ice storm."  

Which is basically code for having an inch of ice on every road and sidewalk, for which the city does nothing.  No plows, no salt, no nothing.

Which then makes for a pretty dangerous world, especially with all the Texans who have no clue how to drive in it.  We hunkered down.  The kids walked to Target for snacks and supplies as needed.  I spent my days in sweat pants cooking chicken noodle soup, sitting by the fire, and taking nap after nap after nap.

It was heaven.  Heaven that sadly melted when temperatures climbed back up to normal.

It seems that our heaven gets extended by a few more days.  

Snow is quite the novelty here.  The last time Texas had it was two-and-a-half years ago, long before we made the move to the Lone Star State, and that was a one-day fluke. People here are not prepared to deal with the snow.  We do not even own a snow shovel.  

The school district was adamantly not canceling or closing early today, in spite of several hoaxes on Twitter to the contrary.  It seemed ridiculous to spend the last few hours of a Friday sitting in a near-empty classroom, so I joined the throngs of parents who waited in line to check my kids out early.  

After all, if 75 percent of the student population goes home, teachers are obviously not doing much teaching, and why not win mom of the year award in their eyes, right?

So Right.  Worth it for this face alone.  

That, my friends, is pure, unadulterated happiness.

It's hilarious to watch the little brown girl enjoy her first snow.  She didn't know what to make of it at first.  Biting each flake maniacally, skidding and jumping with joy, trying to catch everything she could.  She is a kid in a candy store.  She rings the bell to go outside constantly and comes bounding in a few minutes later, looking at us with eyes that beg for company in the backyard.

Which do not remotely have any power over me.

Especially not when the temperatures are below freezing.

McKay was home sick this morning anyway, and his brother has happily taken up the post of keeping him company at the X-Box.

It's going to be a glorious weekend.  Hygge*.

*Hygge is a Danish word which means relaxing, cozy family time together with the ones you love.  It is my favorite word and motto.  

She's definitely not a year wiser

This little brown-faced ball of energy turns one today.

We'd like to say she's one year wiser, but that'd be, well, lying.  She's pretty much every bit as insane as the day we brought her home.  

My kids all begged for me to write a birthday post similar to the ones I do for them.  Seeing as I am her primary caregiver - and, therefore - the only person who deals with her neuroses, energy, and naughtiness on a daily basis, I couldn't quite bring myself to do it.

But I sure do love her.

In spite of her mad, maniacal self.

She and I walk every day for about 45 minutes to an hour.  It is a time I have truly come to enjoy.  I put the headphones in my ears and off we go in the early morning hours.  Sometimes she does really well and heels when I ask, her eager tail wagging as we make our way down the street.  

Other times, I am prying her jaws open to pull out cigarette butts, dead rabbits, and, often, her own feces.

Those are not my favorite days.

But once in a while, she follows me in and sits at my feet while I work.  Or she eagerly tags along as I clean and straighten the house.  She fixes her big brown eyes on me as though I'm the most fascinating creature she's ever beheld.  She obeys my every command and cannot wait to ride in the car when it's time to pick up the kids.

The best is when I catch her in a sleepy mood, and she'll love on me with all the affection that hides secretly beneath her wild and crazy exterior.  She'll smile and stretch and my heart just melts at the sight of her.  I scratch her ears, rub her belly, and I'm positive that she knows just how much I love her.

Those are my favorite days.   

Happy birthday, Indiana.   You crazy, ding-dong weirdo.

Anyone know a good mumu store?

This year has been a tough one for a variety of reasons.  Top of that list are several annoying health issues that have plagued my life and used up all the dollars in our flexible spending account.  One of these little issues is something I feel compelled to share here, even though it is gross and probably oversteps the sharing boundaries.

Last June, I was sitting poolside in our backyard.  I had a diet coke by my side (natch) and was chatting happily with the Husband.  I felt a small bump on the back of my thigh, and looked to see what it was.

It looked relatively harmless, like many of the dark freckles that adorn my Scandinavian-skinned body.  But something told me this one was different.  I looked up at the husband and said, "I think I have a melanoma on my leg."

It seemed like a stupid thing to say at the time, because a) my incessant googling of any and all ailments does not make me a doctor, in spite of how I'll tell you otherwise; and b) it was really not all that different from the other 9,390,423 freckles that cover every inch of my cellulite-riden body.

But something told me to make an appointment and get that dreaded skin check.  Call it what you like.  Intuition.  Fear.  Paranoia.  I call it an intervention from above.

This is the "freckle."

Truth be told, it looks more like a tick than a freckle.  Ew.

So I made an appointment with a dermatologist, and felt that I had done my part.  The day of the appointment came, and she felt we should, indeed, biopsy it, along with a couple other concerning spots.  She reassured me that they were probably nothing, but did not want to chance it just in case.

About two days later, she called back.  The "freckle" I had found was melanoma.  It was only on the top skin layer, but they would need to cut it out to prevent further spread.

That fun surgery resulted in this lovely vision: 

Yeah.  Gross.  Happy Fourth of July to me.

Here's the thing:  Once you have a melanoma, the cancer cells will spread to other tissues.  That is how melanoma is made.  It's what melanoma was born to do.  It's not a question of if, but when.  It's only a matter of how fast it spreads (or metastasizes).  She said it can spread to other parts of your body in a few days, or take years.

You. Never. Know.

Which is why they cut it all out, and a pretty wide margin around it.

Thankfully, my margins came back clean.  I figured this would be the end of it.  Skin checks every few months, but nothing to ever deal with again.

At my three-month check up last week, I pointed out a new mole.  It was not remotely like the other one -- it was much lighter, even bordered, but slightly raised.  I honestly figured it was nothing, but, again, felt prompted to point it out.  This one was on my inner thigh, pretty high up, and not a super fun area to be examined in.

To be safe, she sent it in for biopsy.

Annnddd.... you can guess where this story is going.  Yep.  Another cancer.  Squamous cell carcinoma this time.  Had the surgery to remove it about five days ago.  

My friends, I share this gross story for one reason, and one reason only:

GET YOUR FREAKING SKIN CHECKED.

Though squamous cell carcinoma does not usually spread like melanoma, it can.  

And for reasons I will never know, I was prompted both times to seek medical attention for things that otherwise would have escaped my notice or been shaken off as nothing.  And both times, these "freckles" came back malignant.  Please see a dermatologist.  Stand there naked for a few minutes and make sure you are okay.  It is so worth it.

Don't you want to be around to see your grandkids?  I know I do.   

Things to also take notice of:  New moles are concerning.  Moles that change are concerning.  Irregular borders, raised or dark moles are concerning.  And if you can't tell enough if they are concerning, let your dermatologist do it for you.  Please, please, please!  Get your skin checked.

Turns out?  What our fathers told us back in the 80s was true:  Laying out in the back yard with baby oil covering every inch of your body is a very bad thing.  

So, from now until the end of time, you will find me under the umbrella.  Covered head to toe in sunscreen, a big hat, and a mumu.  

With a diet coke in hand (natch).