The following is a saga about me, Rum Balls, and human frailty. Not interested? move on. Want to feel superior about yourself and your life in general? Then by all means, continue.
I have always wanted to be a valuable, productive part of society. I chose to stay home and raise my kids. It’s not everyone’s choice, but for reasons I won’t go into here, it was my choice. I will say, however, for the record, that none of the reasons I had for making that choice was sloth, selfishness, or lack of ability to make it in the real world. (Maybe that last one a little bit, but we’ll let it slide.) Being a stay at home mom in this day and age is filled with challenges. Not only does everyone who is NOT a stay at home mom figure you have time on your hands to volunteer for everything they do NOT have time for, but also, you get judged. I mean, seriously judged. You get judged by your family, your working peers, your stay at home peers, and lastly, yourself. You find yourself trying to prove to yourself and the world that your place on this earth accounts for something. Believe me, your children can’t appreciate what you do for them until they are way way older. And by then you don’t give a crap what anyone thinks of your efforts, because you are too busy peeing in your rocking chair.
Well, as my kids got older, and I stopped homeschooling because of my divorce, I had to find some other excuse to make all the oxygen and water I was using in this world worthwhile. I decided to try EMS, and became a volunteer EMT and then ultimately a Paramedic. I was good with patients, I mean, REALLY good. I could make someone in the throws of a cardiac event laugh. But that was pretty much where my talents stopped. I learned that, to be a good paramedic, you really can’t afford to be afraid of the needle. Go figure.
Besides which, my kids, the apples of my eye, the life-force-sucking entities to whom I am enslaved, were complaining that I was always away. It wasn’t true, of course, but they were just used to me being full-on-always-there-mom. I love my kids more than anything, and never wanted them to feel they came second to me…there was no choice. I had to stop the whole EMS thing.
I got remarried to a man (My Captain) who simulateously lifts me up and puts me in my place. Its a tight line to walk, but he does it without complaint. Most of the time. When he says his wife is a handful, he’s not just saying I’m fat. But, he agreed with my decision to make staying home and being a full-time mom and family organizer my number one priority. So I have been Mrs. Brady, Martha Stewart, and Phyllis Diller all rolled into one ever since. I’ve become quite the homemaker, mom, wife, gardener, holiday decorater, etc. Our lives became one long episode of Leave It To Beaver.
As fulfilling as that was, I decided I ought to make some more friends. I’m a social person by nature, and being a stay at homemaker in the Agricultural reserve can be a little solitary. My mom’s neighbor was having a cookie exchange. I invited myself and decided I’d make Rum Balls as my contribution.
Here’s where the reason lies for this post: Its 1:40 in the afternoon, my kids come off the bus in less than an hour and a half, and I am, well, NOT sober. I mean, I’m woozy. Seriously.
You see, I made the rum balls with 151 proof Rum because the gentleman at the county liquor store suggested that the receivers of my Rum Balls would appreciate it. What he didn’t consider, and neither did I, was that there is a lot of taste testing in any cookie making endeavor. Rum Balls included. You have to make sure you have the right amount of Maple syrup, crushed Pecans, crushed gingersnaps, crushed graham crackers, Brown sugar, Vanilla, butter, Ginger, Cinnamon, Cloves, Nutmeg, and Rum. Too much of any one ingredient and your Rum balls become Ginger balls or Maple balls or Vanilla Balls. And who needs THAT? It needs to taste primarily of RUM, you see. So I diligently did what I always do, and tasted here and tasted there and added this and then tasted again and then added more of that and then tasted again.
And then, the kitchen started spinning.
I gulped down the rest of my coffee, sat down, and put my head in my hands wondering if I was given an intervention, would it be from AA or Weight Watchers?
So, here I am, a happy drunk, just because I was trying to be a good homemaker. It all makes so much sense now. This was obviously my purpose in life. I was never meant to be a Paramedic. I was meant to be a drunken Baker. God help my children and my husband.