I’m meeting a new friend for lunch today. And an old friend for line-dancing tonight. And I’m feeling rather spoiled about it all. I mean, moms shouldn’t have TWO social events on the calendar for the same day, should we?
Which brings me to the point of what moms should be doing anyway.
For a long time, I measured myself by what I remember of my own mom. I remember my mom always being awake when I woke up in the morning. Terrycloth robe wrapped around her waist, soft pink slippers, a nice short haircut that wasn’t too fussy but still showed terrific style. She was a mid-thirty something year-old for as long as I can remember. Old enough that I’d never know what it was like to be as old as her.
The odd thing is, I’ve now reached the age in my life where I am exactly as old as she was. And I don’t feel the least bit old at all. I was chatting it up with my son’s piano teacher late Monday night. We were just two hilariously adorable young gals, catching up after a week of absence. I turned my head and looked at my son and realized, he didn’t see it. He nudged his nose a little and I swear I caught his eyes roll and I was surprised to realize he doesn’t find me the least bit young, or lively, or cool. I’m just his mom. That nice old lady that greets him in the morning and tucks him in at night and buys him sneakers and makes him chocolate cake in a crockpot to greet the biting chill of an oncoming winter.
Such is the fate of all moms. No matter how skinny we are, or how many abbreviations we can text, or how many Zumba moves we can shimmy through, to our kids we’re just the old, wise people in their lives.
And I realized then that everyday is really a bit like living in an imaginary world. Because I’m not even old. And I’m not really all that wise. Yet no matter how much I try to let my children in on these facts, I’m older than they are and wiser than they are. So that makes me ancient. Except I’m not, duh.
Because, ancient people don’t do lunch with new friends.
And they definitely don’t join in a on rousing night session of line-dancing with old friends.
They don’t make oatmeal in the morning in bare feet and spandex shorts. Terrycloth robes, maybe. But spandex? For no’s.
And ancient people DEFINITELY do not fill their day’s with a slew of other snappy, bodacious activities. Like calling sisters to talk about shopping in the grocery store with crying babies. Or organizing closets in descending rainbow order. Or going on hot date’s with husbands to Outback Steakhouse to order low-calorie foods. Or taking secret baths and reading archived Reader’s Digest articles. Or visiting the dermatologist for a random red bump on our eyelids.
I’m crazy hip. Spry and youthful. Totally mom inappropriate.
Whatever are my kids thinking?
Slow Cooker Chocolate Cake
1 cup brown sugar
3/4 cup cocoa powder
1/2 cup melted butter
1 packet chocolate pudding
1 cup flour
1/2 cup milk
8 ounces plain Greek yogurt or sour cream
1 1/2 cups chocolate chips
1 teaspoon vanilla
Spray a large crock pot with nonstick cooking spray. Plop all ingredients into the crockpot and mix together well combines. Pop the lid on the crockpot and cook for 4 hours on low. Check the cake by inserting a knife in the center. It should come out fairly clean. You'll know the cake is done when the edges begin separating from the sides of the pot. Your first cake you make might require some checking until you get to know how quickly your slowcooker actually cooks the cake.
Turn the crockpot off and allow the cake to rest for up to 30 minutes. Slice and serve with ice cream or whipped cream or sprinkle with powdered sugar to garnish.