Trying to make homemade treats

I thought it would be a sweet gesture for the children to make the Father’s Day gifts for the Long Suffering Husband and Grampy Grumpy this year: homemade and made with love.

You know what they say about best intentions, right?

So, I made plans with my sister, Foo-Dog, to get together and have the kids make a cake and cards. I was supposed to stop by the Saturday afternoon before Father’s Day, after Foo got off work.

On the way down, I had to stop and pick up some doo-dads for the cards, which cost more than just buying the cards would have been. There was a shocking lack of father-themed stuff, but the kids found molds for mustache-shaped candies.

The kids now needed to make mustache-shaped candies for their father and grandfather. They needed to make them with popsicle sticks so the mustache could be held in front of Grampy’s and the LSH’s actual mustaches for comic effect. (Grampy rocks a rather fierce mustache, but the LSH only has stubble, and only on weekends.)

Not only did they need to make mustache candies, they also now needed all things mustache for their cards. It would be a mustache-themed Father’s Day.

Since I’m of the opinion these things ought to come from the children, I agreed.

I should have just stuck with Plan A. I should always just stick with Plan A. Why do I never go with Plan A?

We made another stop – to pick up some cake mix and icing – before we arrived at Foo’s house. We were maybe a little later than promised, but, really, my family just ought to anticipate that by now.

“I already made the cake,” Foo said.

“What?” I said. “It was supposed to be made with love!”

“I made it when I got home from work,” she said.

Fine. There were still cards to be made.

“I don’t want to make a card,” my nephew the Heathenish announced.

“Momma, we don’t have any ink,” my Sassy Saint said.

The card-making supplies are scattered between my house and Grandmama’s house. Apparently I had forgotten the ink, which made the purchase of mustache and “Happy Father’s Day” stamps somewhat superfluous.

“Momma, we don’t have any glue dots,” the Little Professor chimed in.

“Use regular glue,” I said.

He ended up accidentally gluing his father’s card to the inside of his envelope.

“I want to make a card for Uncle Davey Crockett,” my nephew the Hellion said.

Davey doesn’t have children, but the children all made him a card. I mailed them. I am awaiting word of his reaction.

Once Grandmama and I cleared away the card-making mess, we decided to make a new mess: mustache candies. The first batch cracked down the middle and were only half-staches.

“You have to make sure you make the middle strong, because it’s so thin,” I told them.

I managed to burn the candy during the second batch. I’m still unsure how I did this, but it reeked of burned sugar, became completely liquid and turned a weird dark color. I had to throw it away.

An hour in, we had managed to make one useable candy. Then, one of the dispensing bottles exploded all over the kitchen. (Luckily, it was Grandmama’s kitchen, not mine. Mine is still recovering after being flooded by Sass.)

“What’s going on in there?” Grandmama asked.

“Do not come in here,” I said. “Just don’t.”

We ended up with a grand total of seven candies. With great ceremony, the kids presented several to Grampy Grumpy.

He deigned to hold one up and have his picture taken – for Sass – before Foo brought the cake out with a flourish. She put candles on it, and we sang “Happy Father’s Day,” which I don’t think is an actual song.

Grampy seemed satisfied with his cake and clutch of kid-designed cards.

I took the kids home and let them bake a second cake for the LSH. I even let them ice it, although I was pretty anxious about it.

The LSH seemed bemused by the mustaches.

“Do you like it?” the Professor asked.

“It’s great.”

It was melting in the heat, so I whisked it off to the freezer.

I’m just lucky that he’s easy to please.

(Wallace-Minger, a resident of Weirton, is the community editor of The Weirton Daily Times.)