I am a hot mama — although not in the way you might be thinking. I am hot, but I’m not referring to a trendy or hip sort of fashion, which, ironically, might also be thought of as cool. I am hot, as in Hades hot. Temperature hot. My husband is not. (Hot in a temperature sort of way, that is.) It didn’t used to be like this. In our early years of marriage, I suffered from chilled-to-the-bone syndrome. Brrrr was practically my middle name, especially at night. I wore winter pajamas — the kind with feet built right in. I piled on thick quilts and comforters — the more the merrier.
It’s human nature. We want what we don’t have. The condition often follows us through life. To get what we perceive we don’t have — or didn’t have during childhood — sometimes, as adults, we overcompensate. When she was a girl, my mom had only one doll. As an adult, she collected dolls to the point of near hoarding. Some people fill their china cabinets with china. My mom filled hers with Baby Tender Love, Thumbelina and Swingy. Other people overcompensate with an overabundance of shoes, cats, comic books, PEZ dispensers, sports memorabilia or anything else one can purchase on eBay.
There are two kinds of people in the world: those who bake homemade cookies, and those who eat them. Sadly, I think those in the first group are in danger of extinction. Not many people take the time to bake cookies anymore. Take me, for instance. My kids think “homemade” cookies come preformed in a plastic package in the refrigerator. Try not to judge; I make it up to them in other ways. This morning I spent time in the kitchen with two friends who are part of the endangered species of cookie bakers. Somehow, I corralled them into teaching me the art of cookie creation.