I had a birthday party for a friend Saturday night. I won’t get a sitter when I have a date. That’s what shared custody is for. But I had a party to attend. It was a party with Persian food and it was full of vegetarian yum and the beautiful art of kabob that satisfied the carnivore in me. It came at a cost.
My son didn’t want to go to Grandma’s house, but he agreed if I would make him macarons. He loves macarons. He requested orange blossom. They’re a complicated piece of work with very few ingredients.
I usually use fewer dishes, but I wanted to take pictures.
At this point, the egg whites have sugar added and a bit of cream of tartar. I had stiff peaks that stayed put when the bowl was flipped upside down. The powdered sugar and almond meal were sifted together, then folded into the egg whites.
Orange blossom water added the flavor and the gel food coloring made it pretty.
This stream of yum is ready to be put in a piping bag.
I use silpat mats with parchment over it. It keeps the bottom from browning too quickly.
I’m horrible at piping things with a bag. I bang the pan on the counter to release air bubbles. They rest a bit until the top is no longer sticky.
They’ve baked and have cute little feet from released steam.
I eyeball my buttercream. Butter, powdered sugar, more orange blossom water and gel food coloring. Normally the cookies would rest but my boys don’t allow that. I already had one thieved away as soon as the cookies were taken out.
The cookies were made and gone by morning. (I asked them to save some for Kid3 who thinks they’re too sweet.)
The point is the work involved is where you find the love. I was texting someone last night. It’s the new form of dating I’m not sure I like. Even in casual dating, people want to get to know you and I feel that’s the point of going out for coffee and dinner. I rely too heavily on nonverbal communication and body language to be comfortable with texting. It skeeves me out when I’m texting someone that says he’s willing to relocate from Dallas to Los Angeles for love or when you can’t judge the tone of a conversation because it is something that pops up when you are in the middle of living.
I wholeheartedly believe that if the juice is worth the squeeze, it’s not work but anticipation.
My kids have on and off freak outs about my dating. They are okay and then the anxiety kicks in and they are not. For the most part I keep it away from them. They won’t meet anyone I’m dating unless he’s really special and we’re talking long term and progressing toward cohabitation or marriage. I’m still legally married and not at all interested in that right now. I’m also not into “Netflix and Chill,” now that I know what that means. (Yikes!) I try not to piss in my own pool, (to put it in the most vulgar form I can), but that means I’m not eager to date someone that knows my family. That just feels like descabbing the scars our family faced last year when I was a sobbing mess shattered by a false friendship and deep betrayal. This morning I had a heart to heart with Kid3. He’s worried about a replacement Daddy. I assured him that he has only one Daddy and Mom is just going out to have fun. He’s special to me and someone has to be really special to earn the right to meet him. He felt better about that. He was curious about the many alerts and likes I get because my phone goes off all the time and I showed him a couple and pointed out that Mommy can’t date the many 20 year olds that like me because that would be creepy. He started laughing with me and we both felt better.
This juice is worth the squeeze but I’m waiting for the wine glass to shine before I pour this mimosa.