Cake Pops To The Rescue
It all started right after a glorious First Communion Mass celebration for two of my grandchildren; cousins by chance, best buddies by choice. I love everything about First Communions. The kids are polished in their finest, their mismatched teeth smiles are priceless, and you can’t help but have every hope for all things good. There are so few perfect days, and this felt like one of them. But then again, it all depends on how you define perfect.
My job was to leave church a bit early and make haste to my son’s home so I could prepare for the onslaught of the blended family crew. My husband’s job was to pick up the pre-paid 88-piece chicken tender order from the local gas station known for its particularly crispy and crunchy chicken. Yet when he arrived at the gas station to pick up the order, there was none. No chicken. Apparently, this gas station had a shortage of crispy.
Rather than burden the young parents who were no doubt in the glow of photographs following the church service, I went into solution mode. Where could there possibly be 88 chicken tenders nearby ready to go?
Scrambling through my Door Dash app, I came upon a local fried chicken establishment that offered large trays of chicken tenders. I ordered enough to cover the 88 needed and paid for the express delivery. As a plethora of hungry kids arrived at my son’s house exuberantly expressing their hunger, I informed my daughter and daughter-in-law of the chicken mishap emphasizing all was ok. No, worries, I told everyone, the chicken will be here soon. As I attempted to reassure, I received a Door Dash notification that there was a delay in preparing our order. Perhaps they don’t often get a Door Dash express order for 88 chicken tenders.
Meanwhile, as the mac and cheese remained warming in the oven, and the bowl of cut up fruit remained cooling in the fridge, another grandmother proceeded to pull packages of cake pops from her Mary Poppins-like bag. The kids swarmed with glee. As the adults waited and checked their watches in hopes the chicken would appear, the kids made a unilateral decision to have cake pops for dinner.
After what seemed like an eternity, I received notification the chicken had been delivered. I went to my son’s front door. No chicken. It was then I realized the chicken had been delivered to MY house. I jumped in the car, hurriedly backed out of my son’s driveway (I may have clipped some grass) and drove to my home where the chicken was waiting by my front door.
Meanwhile, my daughter in law, having no idea of where the chicken was (or where I was, for that matter), ordered enough pizzas and tater tots from a nearby pizzeria to feed an army. When I finally returned with 88 now soggy, oversized fried chicken thighs (not tenders…apparently I ordered without my glasses), there was no room at the table.
“Move the tots!” I said to my son as I walked in teetering with bags of chicken strewn all over my arms and shoulders. And just like that, the kitchen table was overflowing with stacked pizza boxes, mountains of tater tots, and more fried chicken than Colonel Sanders could ever dream of. The table looked like it needed a Martha Stewart intervention. Such a frenzy for kids who weren’t even hungry. For them, dinner consisted of cake pops. Best day ever, best meal ever, and best joy ever for my sweet little grandchildren. I hope they will always know the sustaining power of love and remember that life’s imperfections are where stories are born. Who needs chicken anyway?