amicus
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2003
- Posts
- 14,812
A little on the lighter side...one you may not suspect of the ole grump...
Okay, so I’m old, I remember cooking fudge fifty years ago for my younger brothers and sisters, five of them, all about two years apart in age.
I made fudge for my kids and things were about the same, five of them, all about two years apart and they fought over the spoon and the pan when the fudge was finished and licked them clean.
For the past two months I have been providing child care for my daughters children, four of them, two boys, two and four, who represent, in full measure, the ‘terrible two’s’ and the ‘fatalistic four’s’, and two girls nine and six, both blondes, with the full meaning of the word intended.
This is not intended to be critical of my daughter, whom I love very much, but like so many of her generation, she works…full time. So did her husband, uhm, until the recent crisis that brought me here; she is now a single mom with four boisterous monsters. Ask me, I know.
The boys are in daycare, giving me a break during the day, as even the two girls are a handful for this ole codger. One can read, kinda, the other cannot; neither knew how to use a measuring cup or spoons of the correct size.
But…I forged ahead, explaining as I went, having them measure the ingredients and mix them and finally onto the burner and I did that part, which is where I made the error of misjudging the ‘soft ball’ stage of cooking candy, if you are familiar with such things.
I even have a candy thermometer, which I actually used, something not available back in the good old days.
It looked like the soft ball stage to me, so off it came, we let it cool according to the Hershey's Cocoa Recipe, and all three of us beat that fudge for half an hour and it kept its, shiny, glossy appearance, got a little bit thicker, but it absolutely refused to harden.
We all had aching arms, so I sent them outside to play and re-cooked the mixture. It only needed to boil about three minutes longer and a ‘real’ ‘softball’ formed and I almost didn’t get it in the pan before it turned rock hard.
But, I shouted out the door, “Candy Pan Lickin’ Time!”, and they came runnin’.
“Too sweet!” said one and went back out to play.
“I don’t like it!” said the other.
I never knew a kid that didn’t like fuuuuuudddddge…(with apologies to “The Christmas Story), they didn’t get that reference either.
A week later, half a pan of fudge still sits as I nibble away at it…tastes fine to me.
Today they asked for Mac&Cheese for lunch. I complied, along with a batch of ‘scratch biscuits’, and a little extra grated cheddar, extra butter and such. I am not one for cooking out of box, I know, again, not a criticism, I just grew up in an era where there were no boxes to cook out of, except cereals.
Guess what? They, two girls, ate the entire box, a couple biscuits with butter and jelly and then fought over who would lick the bowl and spoon I mixed the Mac&Cheese in.
Go figure.
I give up.
I don’t have a clue to this new generation of rug-rats.
I won’t even relate the saga of the home-made bread I baked for them a few weeks ago….baking bread takes hours and hours. I will say…they were quite surprised to find their names on top of two loaves, spelled out in butter.
Then the ‘Mama’ came home and sniffed. “You used real butter in that?!” Blah, blah, blah, cholesterol….blah, blah, “You probably put salt in it too?! Blah, blah, blah.
Six months ago I was flat on my back in a hospital recovering from cancer surgery, and although I don’t remember it, my children say I had them search the entire hospital for packets of salt for the tasteless food.
School starts in two weeks, but there are weekends…sighs…her new apartment won’t be available until October.
Wonder ifin I can last that long?
Oh, I forgot; I also made my first ever “Hamburger Helper” dinner for them one night…they ate the hell out of it.
Time for me to retire as they turn their noses up at my pork and beef roasts, baked potatoes, and all the traditional foods I know how to prepare.
Someone help me back to my exclusive little cave and the solitude I am accustomed to?
~~~
such a deal, eh?
ami
Okay, so I’m old, I remember cooking fudge fifty years ago for my younger brothers and sisters, five of them, all about two years apart in age.
I made fudge for my kids and things were about the same, five of them, all about two years apart and they fought over the spoon and the pan when the fudge was finished and licked them clean.
For the past two months I have been providing child care for my daughters children, four of them, two boys, two and four, who represent, in full measure, the ‘terrible two’s’ and the ‘fatalistic four’s’, and two girls nine and six, both blondes, with the full meaning of the word intended.
This is not intended to be critical of my daughter, whom I love very much, but like so many of her generation, she works…full time. So did her husband, uhm, until the recent crisis that brought me here; she is now a single mom with four boisterous monsters. Ask me, I know.
The boys are in daycare, giving me a break during the day, as even the two girls are a handful for this ole codger. One can read, kinda, the other cannot; neither knew how to use a measuring cup or spoons of the correct size.
But…I forged ahead, explaining as I went, having them measure the ingredients and mix them and finally onto the burner and I did that part, which is where I made the error of misjudging the ‘soft ball’ stage of cooking candy, if you are familiar with such things.
I even have a candy thermometer, which I actually used, something not available back in the good old days.
It looked like the soft ball stage to me, so off it came, we let it cool according to the Hershey's Cocoa Recipe, and all three of us beat that fudge for half an hour and it kept its, shiny, glossy appearance, got a little bit thicker, but it absolutely refused to harden.
We all had aching arms, so I sent them outside to play and re-cooked the mixture. It only needed to boil about three minutes longer and a ‘real’ ‘softball’ formed and I almost didn’t get it in the pan before it turned rock hard.
But, I shouted out the door, “Candy Pan Lickin’ Time!”, and they came runnin’.
“Too sweet!” said one and went back out to play.
“I don’t like it!” said the other.
I never knew a kid that didn’t like fuuuuuudddddge…(with apologies to “The Christmas Story), they didn’t get that reference either.
A week later, half a pan of fudge still sits as I nibble away at it…tastes fine to me.
Today they asked for Mac&Cheese for lunch. I complied, along with a batch of ‘scratch biscuits’, and a little extra grated cheddar, extra butter and such. I am not one for cooking out of box, I know, again, not a criticism, I just grew up in an era where there were no boxes to cook out of, except cereals.
Guess what? They, two girls, ate the entire box, a couple biscuits with butter and jelly and then fought over who would lick the bowl and spoon I mixed the Mac&Cheese in.
Go figure.
I give up.
I don’t have a clue to this new generation of rug-rats.
I won’t even relate the saga of the home-made bread I baked for them a few weeks ago….baking bread takes hours and hours. I will say…they were quite surprised to find their names on top of two loaves, spelled out in butter.
Then the ‘Mama’ came home and sniffed. “You used real butter in that?!” Blah, blah, blah, cholesterol….blah, blah, “You probably put salt in it too?! Blah, blah, blah.
Six months ago I was flat on my back in a hospital recovering from cancer surgery, and although I don’t remember it, my children say I had them search the entire hospital for packets of salt for the tasteless food.
School starts in two weeks, but there are weekends…sighs…her new apartment won’t be available until October.
Wonder ifin I can last that long?
Oh, I forgot; I also made my first ever “Hamburger Helper” dinner for them one night…they ate the hell out of it.
Time for me to retire as they turn their noses up at my pork and beef roasts, baked potatoes, and all the traditional foods I know how to prepare.
Someone help me back to my exclusive little cave and the solitude I am accustomed to?
~~~
such a deal, eh?
ami
You can come cook at our house. 
