The Cookie Mom

Since this is the week of school getting out early every day, I’ve been scheduling playdates for Sophia as fast as I can. Yesterday she had two friends over. Simon doesn’t go to school on Thursdays, so I had a House Full O’ Kids. So what did I do?

That’s right. I made cookies.

I am now officially “The Mom Who Makes Cookies For Playdates.” I’m in unknown territory here, people. My mother was certainly not like this. I don’t think any of my friends had moms who would do that. (Actually, that’s not true: Kari’s mom was the first person I knew who made chicken noodle soup from scratch, including the noodles. Man, that soup was good. I don’t remember her making any cookies, though.) As I’ve mentioned before, I was an adult before I realized you could make a cake or brownies without needing to have a mix labeled “Duncan Hines” on hand. And now I’m whipping up cookies on the spur of the moment! Fear me!

I made snickerdoodles, Sophia’s favorite cookie, from a recipe from Martha Stewart. Darin pronounced them the best cookies he’s ever eaten, which means, of course, I have to run out and buy Martha’s Baking Handbook. (Like I need excuses for more cookbooks. I need to quell my desire for cookbooks! Our cookbook shelves are busting out all over: I’m going to have to get rid of some.)

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Darin and I have Date Night once a week. Yes, I know: it’s so cute. Usually we have dinner and a movie (or, depending on what time Darin manages to make it home from work, just a movie, and sometimes depending on the quality of movies out there, just dinner), but last night we went to see Center for Literary Arts at San Jose State University. He read two stories: “Orange,” which is in the form of answers to a questionnaire (and we never get the questions); and “The Witch’s Headstone,” which is part of a forthcoming anthology and a chapter from a novel. He’d never read “The Witch’s Headstone” before, so he apologized to us in advance for not knowing how long it was. And it was long, but it was great — that’s a book I’m looking forward to.

Darin and I miss the Writer’s Bloc series in Los Angeles, where writers interviewed writers. As we were waiting for Gaiman to start, he said, “When you’re in charge of the writers in this area, you could start something like that.” But I think the Center for Literary Arts is as close as we’re going to get in the South Bay: we’re too spread out, too suburban, and too non-literary to support something like that. Unless you came up with some big names, I guess. Gaiman did have quite a good turnout last night.

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Nanowrimo is going. It’s not going particularly well — every time I’ve caught up with the word count, something happens and I slip behind again. Right now I’m 5000 words behind the pace.

I have learned something about my writing habits, what I need to work on. Number one is, of course, finishing. I have a terrible time declaring something “done,” “near done,” or “take it away before I edit it again.” Number two is… Well, I told Tamar the opening for my novel, and she said it sounded good. Then I said, I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know why this crime was committed, I don’t know whodunnit. I’m not ever sure I’ve introduced whodunnit yet.

I have got to figure out the crimes before I start writing. I might not have to figure out anything else, like the plot, but I have got to know the engine before I go. Otherwise I just stop dead. The same thing happened to me last year: I had a very good opening, then no explanation for why that thing had happened.

And apparently my subconscious is not leaping to the rescue with explanations, which really pisses me off. Hello, everyone else’s seems to help them out, give them dreams. Jump in here, elves!

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So, that’s what I’ve been doing.