Mist rose off the flat land like smoke from a long-forgotten campfire on that cold, gray, drizzly December day in central Ohio. In a semi-quiet suburban home,
a wife and mother of two contemplates her afternoon's responsibilities.
Wash 2 basketball jerseys in cold water, then tumble dry low - check.
Work a psychedelic Spiderman puzzle bearing a striking resemblance to those Magic Eye pictures from the 1990's with your 5 year old son, Chaos - check.
He doesn't always wear a mustache.
Make Christmas Butter Mints with your 9-on-Tuesday year old daughter, Pandemonium - ................
She doesn't always wear a mint green and tan striped cardigan with a pink and white heart-covered dress and purple skull leggings.
And so it begins - simple recipe, 5 ingredients, no baking, no yeast involved (I have some trust issues with yeast) - my kind of recipe and then BLAMMO!!
Latex Exam Gloves Made Of Butter Mint Dough! One thing you should probably know is that I detest housework, so when I can avoid it, I do. My brain starts working:
1) If I turn on the faucet, I'll have to clean the faucet.
2) Because the Butter Mint goulash is dripping off my hands, I cannot move from this position or I risk mopping the floor and I just did that last year.
3) If I wipe the goo on the dish towel, I will have to do a load of laundry.
And so on and so forth until...
I yell for my 40 year old husband, Mass Hysteria (Sorry, B! I had an age pattern thingamabob going on that couldn't be broken) to save me not only from my mittens of minty-fresh slime but from any unnecessary housework. Alas, however, he is saving the world from a zombie apocalypse or something and cannot hear me over the rat-a-tat-tat of machine-gun fire coming from his video game.
He doesn't always wear...whatever it is he has going on here.
An inkling of hope trickles into my heart as I hear the music from Pandemonium's iPod heading my direction. This child is tall enough to turn on the faucet. This child will help me.
The fact that she has been playing Jim Croce's Time In A Bottle on a continuous loop for the last 20 minutes should not impede her ability to operate kitchen sinks. It is perfectly acceptable to be the world's youngest Jim Croce fan.
That hope dies when I hear the patter of her little feet running back up the stairs and taking Jim Croce with her.
Chaos saunters in, aiding a Motorola-lanyard-wearing Rudolph by dragging Santa, two of his elves, and a plaid gorilla in a sleigh consisting of an upside-down Steak 'n Shake hat across the floor.
I shriek, "Hud, run get your Daddy for me!". (Being Southern, I am allowed to form sentences in this way. It's kind of a birthright, if you will.) And, sweet, obedient child that he is, he slowly (I'm talking molasses in August, honey) drags Santa and his entourage across the floor in search of his paternal parental unit.
Wasn't Pandemonium supposed to be helping me make these?
14 1/2 minutes and 17 drops of Butter Mint Delight on the kitchen floor later, Mass Hysteria rescues me from impending doom and I finish these ugly little butter critters just in time to start supper.
Aren't they adorable!?! Bless their hearts!
**Please note that some photos were taken by Mass Hysteria thus avoiding any uncomfortable conversations with my wireless phone representative about Butter Mint damage to my phone