I wish I had a photograph of me casting my vote but I guess a word picture will have to suffice: The Baby Nickel riding on my left hip, the other three children crowded round the little stand, listening to me explain who was who, and watching, barely breathing (okay, I am stretching it a bit), as I blackened in my oval. “That’s it?” they asked. “That’s it,” I said, and we trooped over to the machine where The Baby Nickel helped me feed the ballot into the machine. We all got stickers from a sweet lady who apparently remembered us from the last time (oh dear?). The kids wore them proudly, wanting everyone to see that they had voted. I tried to explain to them that they didn’t really vote, but they, especially Miss Becca Boo, were convinced that yes they did, so I didn’t push the subject. I did not want to be responsible for dis-empowering my children.

At the polling station my kids got to eat cookies served up by some kind supporters of the other side. They were delighted with their treats, but when I told them on whose side those people were, their eyes grew wide in disbelief and amazement. Apparently I had failed miserably in my job as a teacher of peace and justice and ethics and mediation and the sermon on the mount, so I informed them, clearly and loudly (we were in the car, so I wasn’t shouting out to the cookie-givers), “Just because people think differently than us does not mean that they are bad people.” My kids looked at me blankly. Oh dear.

We were planning to have a relaxed evening at home but after voting, I developed a bad case of itchy feet and nerves, so after a quick pizza supper and speed baths, I loaded the kids into the car (Mr. Handsome opted to stay home and enjoy the quiet) and drove into town to watch the animated election play-by-plays (a first for me) on my girlfriend’s TV. And to eat her snacks and raid her Halloween candy stash.

At first all the kids ran off to play, but then, as the evening wore on and the little girls and baby boys dropped off to sleep, one by one, sprawled over the sofas and floor, the older boys spent less time playing and more time huddling around the computer, tracking the blues and reds, keeping a tally of who was winning, doing mental computations to figure out how many more votes were needed in order to reach the magic number of 270. They played with a US puzzle map, picking out the states that had been colored in. They petitioned for more cookies…and got them.

One big boy politely asked permission to yell when the final results came in, and we approved the plan most graciously, just to humor the little imps, but then, when the time came, we joined in ourselves, simultaneously jumping for joy and attempting to shush the babies who were screaming in bleary-eyed alarmed terror.

On the return trip home, Yo-Yo, Becca Boo, and I listened to the concession speech. It ended shortly before we reached home, so after hauling the kids up to our room where Mr. Handsome had rigged up the TV-we-don’t-have, we watched the acceptance speech. Well, Mr. Handsome and I watched it.

Sweetsie didn’t hear a word, I don’t think.

And Miss Becca Boo didn’t hear more than about seven words.

Yo-Yo Boy heard bits and pieces, while reading his Harry Potter book in his pillowed fortress on our couch, before drifting off to la-la land himself.

And The Baby Nickel? He didn’t even make it upstairs with us—he was still on the sofa where I had dumped him when I first flew into the house.

And thus ends the year’s second history lesson.

Now today, because I am school board, faculty, and staff all rolled into one, which means that I am all-powerful and the total boss (or, totally bossy), I declared a holiday. When it comes down to it, though, I don’t think I had much of an option because the kids have been in serious melt-down mode ever since they woke up and I’ve had to spend the day wiping them up off of the floor. Right now they are in Extended Rest Time…

Perhaps I should not have taken their real-life history lessons so seriously?

Nah, I don’t regret it, not for one second.

Oh, my. I’m drinking coffee. Ahh. It’s been forever since I’ve drunk/drank/drinked coffee. Forever being, more specifically, since Saturday morning when I took donuts to my Balding Bro’s house. Because then I got sick and I can not abide coffee when I’m sick (it’s the first thing to go when I’m pregnant, which I’m not).

This morning I drank two cups of black tea, and then all during lunch and while I was putting The Baby Nickel down and while I was reading to Sweetsie and then to Yo-Yo and Becca Boo, I pondered whether or not I should make myself my afternoon cup of coffee. I really wanted to, but I still didn’t feel one hundred percent well—there was still that niggling little ouch feeling in my tummy. But I was reasonably certain that my stomach wouldn’t get any worse…

I waffled, literally flitting about the kitchen, turning the computer on, starting the water to boil, and then just stalling, not sure whether to go for the tea bags or the aeropress. Tea just seems so anemic, I thought, and that did it. I whipped out the jars of coffee grounds, poured a mug of milk and set it in the microwave to heat up, and went to the jelly cupboard to cut myself a slice of yesterday’s apple pie. There were also lemon squares in the freezer, but I decided against those since they are tooth-jarringly sweet, and they go best with a cup of anemic tea (sorry, tea-drinkers!) after all.

I love coffee. I do, I do. I love coffee so much that when I hop into bed at night I start to get all giddy excited because in only a few short hours it will be morning and then, oh joy!, I can have my coffee!

I’m serious. I really do that. You’ll still be my friend, won’t you?

But now, let me tell you about the lemon squares (that I didn’t eat with my coffee). These are gooey little lemony squares (or rectangles, depending on the accuracy, or lack-thereof, of your bar-cutting abilities) of pure sweet goodness. We got the recipe from a kids’ cookbook, back when I was a kid, and we (we being my mother and brothers and I) have been making them ever since. We always make them at Christmas time, and then other times, too. I think we made them for my wedding (am I right about that, Mom?).

Lemon Squares
This recipe comes from a children’s cookbook that we no longer have, and more recently from a card from my recipe box which I could not find, so I called my mother and she told me the recipe over the phone. Not that you needed to know all that.

You must use fresh lemon juice and zest for this recipe, no cheating allowed.

1 cup flour
½ cup butter
1/3 cup confectioner’s sugar
1 cup sugar
2 teaspoons lemon peel
2 tablespoons lemon juice
½ teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 eggs

Mix the flour, butter, and confectioner’s sugar together with your fingers until well-incorporated. Press the crumbs into the bottom and up the sides a little of an ungreased square glass pan. Bake for about 20 minutes at 350 degrees.

While the crust is baking, beat together the rest of the ingredients. Pour the frothy yellow mixture (it’s prettiest if you use farm-fresh eggs because their yolks are so brilliantly yellow) over the hot crust and return the pan to the oven and bake for another 25 minutes, or until the mixture no longer wobbles all loosey-goosey like when you tap the pan.

Cool the bars completely before cutting and serving. To freeze, place the cut pieces on a cookie sheet and set in the freezer for about an hour to firm up (they will still be a bit gooey—the result of being so saturated with sugar—yum!) and then place the squares in a bag or plastic container, putting a sheet of wax paper between layers.