6 Six

Make it Quik

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Everyone has memories of that one special family dinner that only Mom (or Dad, or Grandma, or whoever had the culinary expertise) could perfect. In my family, it was my grandma’s Hungarian chicken paprikash with nokedli (followed closely by her stuffed peppers and homemade chicken dumpling soup). Sure, my dad passed along her recipes to me, and I follow them to the T—but sadly, close as they may come, that special something Grandma captured in her dishes was lost with her 25 years ago.

Last night for Anna’s birthday sleepover, I handed her and her friend, Jake, our ritual bedtime nightcap—a big, bubbly glass of chocolate milk. Jake gulped it down heartily and declared, “This is good!”

“My mom makes the best chocolate milk,” Anna boasted. “After you try it, you’re going to want to come over for a thousand sleepovers!”

And with that, I decided, I’m taking the recipe to my grave.

If any of you lets the cat out of the bag, the Quik bunny gets it.

It’s pretty much official.

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Yesterday Anna celebrated her birthday with her bestie, Jacob. He kicked off the event by bestowing her with flowers and jewelry. She wanted to go to the movies, but he opted for a quiet evening at home in front of the Xbox. They then spent the rest of the night arguing over who got the cordless controller. They say they’re going to get married someday. I say it’s already happened.

 

That’s what Easter does

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This morning at the bottom of the stairs I found my girls, giddy and hair tangled, sprawled out with their baskets, divvying up their Easter booty.

“Look! The Easter Bunny got me ring pops! I needed ring pops!” Anna squealed.

I glanced at the clock, just before six, and croaked, “Ring pops! The Easter Bunny sure is awesome!”

(“You needed ring pops like a hole in your tooth,” was my inner, un-caffeinated response. Doug ran a midnight errand for the Easter Bunny hours before, and he ignored my instructions to buy all that is Reese’s.)

“Anna shared her gum with me!” Eva beamed. “She had three pieces, and I didn’t have any. So guess how much she gave me?”

“I don’t know. One?”

“NO!” she screamed. “TWO!”

“Anna, that was extremely thoughtful of you,” I commended.

“Here, Anna,” Eva grinned. “I’m going to give you an orange lollipop! Because I know how much you love orange!”

“I love to see you sisters sharing with each other.” My croaking had, by now, morphed into a chirp. Moments of free-will generosity amongst siblings are, in our house, few and far between.

She hunched over her loot, sorting in into stacks of gobstoppers, Smarties, M&Ms and chocolate eggs. “Yup!” she declared—“That’s what Easter does to us!”

Somewhere in a palace in Imperial City, Beijing, I’m hoping Xi Jinping is waking up to a great, big, overstuffed Easter basket. And at the risk of sounding absurd, I hope that basket was made in the U.S.A.