Filing my teeth to a point

[sovay]

Yesterday we bought hamantashn from Mamaleh's as part of Hamantashen for Ukraine; the flavors were chocolate toffee and raspberry halvah. The ones I made this afternoon with my niece were apricot, sour cherry, poppy seed, and prune which was more improvised than usual because our usual source for lekvar was dead out of stock. She began by just wanting to drop the fillings on the dough once I had rolled and stamped it out and by the second batch was imperiously forbidding me to fold more than one or two cookies per round because she wanted to make them all herself. (Poppy seed is emerging as her favorite flavor. It makes me so happy.) Toward the end, she made a couple in the shape of trilobites, which we agreed were appropriately festive, and a little cat-face with pinched-out ears and chocolate studs of eyes and whiskers out of the handful of dough she had been using as a fidget. Some years we make a triple recipe; this year it was only a double, but there were still enough survivors of the quality control stage to be divided between the three households with a share for the twins, for whom she ran over a care package before leaving. I believe her plan for the coincidence of St. Patrick's Day and Purim is to wear something green and also cat ears to school tomorrow. I like her so much.

Comments

[minoanmiss]

I love my parents, maybe. I care about their wellbeing. I am persistently sad that the way I live my life (apostate, unmarried, not a medical professional, etc) makes them sad. But I insist on being myself, and I don't even talk to them about subjects as innocuous as the weather, because I've learned they can turn anything I say into a lecture about how fat I am and why I should return to their orbit. So, I don't care for their company at all. I don't want to be around them. I don't like them.

(I love reading about your relationship with your parents, so very much.)