Chasing Super

     Sometimes I wake in the morning feeling like Superman's grandma.

     I saw these chocolate caramel marshmallow pops on Pinterest and thought they would make a fun table treat for the grandchildren on Christmas. I woke up yesterday morning feeling like Supergrandma, ready to tackle those haystack cookies that have eluded me in past years, and to make four marshmallow pops. Easy. I knew I could have it done by noon and spend the afternoon catching up on ironing.

     The haystack cookies came off without a hitch except that I hadn't read the recipe through to the part that says they need to be stored in the refrigerator. I put them in a box and stored them in the garage, because there was no room for them in the fridge with the Christmas ham hogging most of the extra space. Sometimes it is a perk to live in a climate that drops below freezing in winter--refrigeration au naturel.

     On to the chocolate caramel marshmallow pops. I bought Jumbo marshmallows and decided to make my own caramel from scratch because the store bought ones just don't taste like caramel anymore. I have a really good recipe from one of my sisters that is not difficult to make. The candy cooked up beautifully, but I accidentally flipped the whisk out of the pan while I was stirring and splattered hot caramel all over the floor and the front of my clothes, and burned my forearm.

     When the crisis was over, I dipped the marshmallows-on-a-stick into the carmel sauce and placed them on waxed paper to cool. Thirty minutes later, when I came back to make the chocolate, I couldn't pry the marshmallows off the waxed paper. Well, I tried my best, but it mangled the marshmallows. I guess I should have buttered the paper. There was nothing in the five recipes I looked at that said I should grease the paper, but they all used cheap caramels which, apparently, do not stick. Needless to say, the Mangled Jumbo Sans Chocolate Caramel Marshmallow Pops went into the kitchen garbage can.

     In my ill-judged attempt to leap tall buildings in a single bound, I had skipped breakfast and lunch and sustained myself on licks of caramel and a handful of peanuts. By two o'clock in the afternoon I was flagging and the ironing pile was untouched. I sat down to eat a plate of scrambled eggs and to take stock of my failure.

     The upshot of it all is that I remembered I am really more of a Clark Kent mild-mannered reporter kind of cook and entertainer, and I am fine with that. It's too exhausting chasing super. Besides, I make a good Snickerdoodle.