November.

I made it through Thanksgiving (without killing anyone, poisoning or scalding anyone, or without going completely crazy) . . . I did eff up the stuffing, which ended up way too dry and, I don't know, kind of crumbly, but the turkey was decent, meatballs were remarkably close to my mother's, and would I be a total snot if I said MY COOKIES WERE THE FUCKING BOMB? They were. I had so many leftover that I got to become the coolest person at work by bringing in a tupperware full (which were gone the next day).

How's the saying go? To compliment a mother, notice her children; to compliment a Schwanke, eat her cookies all gone.

Here are the ones I made, if anyone's yearning for recipes:

Cowboy Cookies, Martha Stewart

Maple Leaf Cookies, Martha Stewart

Chocolate-Ginger Cookies, Martha Stewart (the dough on these was a *bitch* but they looked dynamite, and are pictured up there).

I also made my mother's cutout cookies; LL told me the recipe came originally from a woman named Lorraine Gaffney. Whoever she is, she has the proverbial golden ticket of cutout cookies (because not even Martha's are this good). If you want the recipe I can write you out a copy.

The kids went back to school today, things were great until they came home and all hell broke loose. They were tired and hungry, messing with each other and getting on my nerves the moment they walked in the door. I mean, it's one thing to make dinner with 4 kids hovering, asking me questions, wanting things, trying to dig in the refrigerator, and getting under foot, but add the elevated volume of Lego Star Wars blaster guns, unwavering for approximately 19 minutes straight and I kind of lose the ability to think rationally. Matt came home with a migraine and insisted every light in the house be turned off while he laid on the couch with a washcloth over his eyes----Bubby and Zizzy had just gotten into a physical fight (which rarely happens) so he was sent to his room, Zizzy was sulking on the couch, and B began whining about Zizzy not playing with her. "She won't play Bittys with me!" I won't reveal what my response was, although the neighbors probably heard me yell it, but it wasn't nice or proper. Language was clean, but ahem, a threat was made. And the playing that commenced actually lasted about twenty-seven seconds before the next issue, so I'm thinking they didn't hear a word I'd said anyway.

Other stuff is good, although I've been plagued with seriously disturbing dreams the last two weeks and I don't know why. A few nights ago I dreamed the chicks from Sucker Punch snatched my mother from my yard and hauled her away in an eighteen wheeler, and later that night I was hunting vampires with a co-worker (who kissed me). The week before that it was large scale disasters and snakes, one huge, thick, eel-like bastard that I flung into the bathtub but then it launched back out, directly into my chest. I thought I only had nightmares when I was overheated, but it's been happening too often for that. I mean, granted. I've been watching waaaay too much American Horror Story, and I forced Matt and Leah to watch Insidious the other night and ended up freaking myself out in the process, but I don't like this. Sometimes I think my inner anger gets out of control and seeps into my dreams, but really, the only thing I've been angry about lately is the whole Penn State situation; without actually spelling out a threat (myself) I would be *intensely* satisfied if Jerry Sandusky just happened to be stricken with an incurable case of something awful, or fell into the Grand Canyon . . . ugh. Anger over things like that is really hard to reconcile, no matter how zen I try to be.

Wow. So, to lighten it up before I sign off, I'll just maybe swing things back over to coffee, okay? This is generic, non-affiliated, ANY COFFEE SHOP IN THE USA, any branch, any store, not one in particular (wide, sweeping disclaimer).

Coffee Shop etiquette:

1. When asking for free items (water, cups, half-caf beans for the price of regular, etc.) the correct verbiage would be first "please," and afterwards, "thank you."

2. If you're going to stare at my rack, try to be subtle, okay?

3. Straw wrappers? I've discovered this new, exciting, *special* place for them----the freaking garbage can! (I'm talking to adults here, people. ADULTS.)

4. The highchairs have wheels on them. This does not make them battering rams.

5. Consequently, (see above) YOU BREAK IT, YOU BUY IT, MY FRIEND.

6. Your kids might be adorable (no, they're not) but this doesn't give them the right to run around barefoot in here (also see 4. re: GLASS SHARDS).

7. Coffee that's better than Folgers tends to cost a bit more (when Bonnie goes shopping, she buys shit).

8. You don't really care if it's a light or a dark roast if you're going to dump a bunch of shit into it, so DON'T FRONT ABOUT THE MEDIUM ROAST WE ALWAYS BREW.

9. Something to keep in mind: that decaf button on the espresso machine is mere centimeters away from the regular-caf. Certain acts/offenses could just skew physiology enough to earn a lifetime of decaf . . . (not that I've actually done this, of course).