How to Survive Your Baby's First Sleepover with Help from Creme Brulee

The Helicopter Mom's Guide to Surviving Her Youngest Child's Sleepover While Hounding her Oldest Child and Ending Up with Creme Brulee

First, get woken up at the crack of dawn by 6 year old bouncing off the walls.  Send her packing to buy yourself a few more moments of sleep...start to drift off when she comes bouncing in your room, ready to go.  At 6:14am....she's not scheduled to be picked up until 11:30.  Realize you are in for a LONG morning..

Reiterate a dozen times how it's ok to feel homesick, that her friends mommy has your number and all she has to do is just say she wants to call her mom and BAM!  You will be there within 10 minutes to pick her up.  Watch her roll her eyes at you because she is a big six year old girl, NOT A BABY.  Tell her she will always be YOUR baby and watch as this exclamation does NOT bring on the love, just more eye rolls. 

Watch her wait.....

Watch her start to get bugged because you are maniacally taking photographs of her.....

Watch her have enough of your antics and dismiss your attention with a flippant hand wave and exclaim you "have taken enough pictures already, ugh!!"

Watch her jump up and down with joy as her little friend comes, watch as she runs to the car with a quick kiss and a "bye, mama".  Feel your heart break, just a little.  Pat self of the back that you have an independent child but be comforted by the fact that before the nights end, you'll probably get a phone call because she misses you SOOOO much and wants you to come pick her up. 

 In the mean time, focus on older child.  Sit on couch and grumble about how stupid Hannah Montana is and how you really can't stand the London character on Suite Life on Deck and that back when you were a kid the shows were just better, these are just dumb. Keep hugging and kissing child, and repeatedly talk about cute things he did when he was a baby.   Watch son get up and turn off tv because you? are killing his no-sister-around-I'm-gonna-get-to-watch-whatever-I-want- buzz.  Offer to go for walk because you are beginning to realize there is some form of sugar and cream in your future and a nice walk will help you justify what you are sure is going to be seriously fattening, emotional eating later.

Take a 30 minute walk.  Check your pockets for your cell phone because you are ridiculously out of shape and if you should happen to have a heart attack, it's good to know dialing 9-1-1 is an option. 

Come home.  Watch as son heads to chicken coop.  Know that is NOT an option for you because those damn chickens belong on a styrofoam tray covered in saran wrap at the grocery store, not wandering around your backyard.  But anyway.....

Get call from daughter.  Feel a bit smug.  You knew she'd call.  Feel smugness evaporate upon realizing other mom encouraged phone call and that she's been having a blast and hasn't missed you.  At all.  Awaken to the reality that you won't be getting a "please come get me, I'm homesick" phone call.  Decide this calls for the heavy hitter.  The emotional eaters valium.  The head honcho of fattening globs of gooeyness. 

Queen Creme Brulee

Assemble ingredients and pull out kitchenaid mixer:

Next, get crackin'....
you need 1 whole egg and 4 egg yolks.

Call son in to kitchen.  Before he arrives, scoop up some egg whites and fake a sneeze.  Show him hands.  Laugh because you are damn funny.  

 

Contemplate walking toward the chicken coop with cracked eggs to taunt them....decide against it because they could still peck your eyes out.

Warm up, don't boil 3 cups of heavy cream.  NOT half and half.  If you're going to do this, COMMIT TO THE FAT. 

Add sugar and vanilla to your eggs....mix and watch as the magic starts....

MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!!

...scoop out moth corpse and what you are sure is one of his legs.  Get disgusted and dump it all out and start over.  Blame this on the chickens.

Once your new batch of cream has warmed up, SSSLLLLOOOOWWWWLLLY add it to the eggs that are still spinning around. 

Pour into ramekins, bake for 35 minutes at 300 degrees.  Do your dishes during this time.  Channel Foreigner and sing Jukebox Hero as loud as you can.  As you are standing at the sink, realize your face is getting wet...look around and finally realize husband is outside watering the plants and has been spraying you with a hose through the screen because he does NOT appreciate the impromptu sink-side concert.  Regret throwing away moth corpse because you could have tucked that into his creme brulee and laughed to yourself about how he should be more appreciative of all of your talents, including your awesome singing voice.

Chill, top with a combination of white sugar and turbinado sugar.  Broil then pop back in fridge.

Use plastic fork because all the spoons are in dishwasher and you can't wait.

Wake up in the morning, pray the house your daughter slept in last night wasn't the target of some kind of alien abduction or hit by that gross airplane toilet ice stuff.  Pick her up and listen to her excitedly talk about her next sleepover.  Decide either you need to get a handle on the reality there will be more sleepovers or that you are going to end up weighing 500 pounds.  Listen to kids fight within 2 minutes...and it sounds even better than your singing.  Imagine that.