If You Give a Mouse a Cookie

or 120 chicken wings

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IF YOU GIVE A MOUSE A COOKIE

by Laura Numeroff and Felicia Bond

In this classic, a mouse asks for a cookie. Once the mouse is given the cookie, he asks for a glass of milk, which ends up leading to a series of additional requests. Each event that occurs makes the mouse want something new, creating a seemingly endless stream of demands and a big ‘ol mess.

MOTHERHOOD

by If You Give a Mouse a Cookie

Do you live close to your family of origin?

I don't. I live like 3,000 miles away.

So, when they come to town for a special event—say a first birthday—it is a wonderful whirlwind that creates in me a seemingly endless stream of desires and demands, and one thing leads to another and boy oh boy do I love to make a big 'ol mess!

…

It's the joy of my life to be surrounded by community, especially my family. Taking good care of them feels like my purpose. Whatever that means, I'm still learning to take good care of myself.

But I pride myself on being a liaison to guide family and friends to the best possible version of their experience and I get SO excited to host!

In fact, I get so excited sometimes I over-plan, over-schedule, and overdo it. For me. For them. For everyone.

A primitive version of myself takes hold.

Over the years, I've learned to slow down. Release the pressure.

Relax the perineum.

Stay present. Give people space. Make room for "relaxing," whatever that means.

and I see the benefit in all of that but nevertheless

There’s so much to do! so sometimes I move too fast.

Who can slow down? There’s so much to do!

And I have high expectations of myself. Why? Because I care about excellence. Because I want to be the best and give the best. I want people to experience the best.

and because there’s just nothing worse in the whole wide world than having a bad or mediocre meal.

Amirite?

When my family comes to visit, food is always the biggest logistical nightmare.

For a group that includes babies, grandparents, and many moving parts, you have to plan the meals out or you're left with hangry folks — far from home — raiding your snack cabinets

and googling "best Mexican in Berkeley." Or worse, making suggestions on what to eat in your own town.

How could you stand it?

(Plus, let's be honest, it's your time to show everyone just how great where you live is and what better way to convince all your family members to abandon their lives and goals and move down the street from you than to tantalize them with the best faire your town offers. OY!)

…

The point is, no one is coming to visit and having a mediocre meal.

I can't stand it!

And maybe that's too much already. The pressure to impress. To host! To win the affection of all through knowledge and organization.

Still, a month ago when I knew it would be Friday February 14th, aka Valentine’s when I had the most people visiting, I panicked.

Should I cook? NO. I’m hosting my daughter’s 1st birthday the following morning.

Then I thought, ah yes, hot pot. Perfect.

…

And I was right. The hot pot spot was thrilled to have our big reservation.

This was a good call. Great job planning.

This would’ve been enough.

…

But

a month later, when it was Friday February 14th, and all my guests were texting and asking what the plan for dinner was, I was THRILLED to send the address to the delish hot pot spot and report to all considered that the reservation was under my name.

Nice work, me.

This would’ve been enough!

…

But when I found myself comfortably seated with everyone I love, everyone who had traveled and made the effort to mark my daughter’s first birthday — I could've (should've?) taken a deep breath and focused on — oh, I don't know — anything.

But unfortunately, that primitive thing kicked in and I started to "over-gig."

…

My husband coined over-gigging to alert you when the scales tip away from "helpful" and lean into "too much."

It's a fine fucking line, my friends.

..

For many reasons,

I just couldn't accept that I had done the thing, and now it was time to enjoy it.

At 5pm on Valentine's, sandwiched between my parents and their spouses and my siblings and children, I could only notice one thing — we hadn’t ordered yet.

Where's the waiter? We need to order! Food! Get the FOOD! lot’s of food! HURRY!

so I made a whole scene and finally got a waiter.

and when I look back at this moment, I think — after I had the good idea, made the reservation, invited everyone, made it on time, sat down, and got the waiter, that would've been more than enough. I could've stopped there. I needed to stop there.

My husband tried to help me stop there, but I wouldn't be stopped! No.

Instead I proceeded to

order for the table.

(sigh)

…

Ordering for the table is an art and should only be done by a highly skilled, very present, super calm individual. I was none of these things.

…

The wings paraded out first. Basket after basket after basket of wings. Dozens and dozens. My parents rolled their eyes, my sister gagged, my brother-in-law saddled up. My husband was horrified, and I fell down a shame spiral so long I am still emerging.

Later, after I had arrested visiting friends, neighbors, hotel ridden family members, and an unfortunate soul making their home on the street outside of the restaurant with alllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll 30 bags of leftovers — I finally did the math — just for the wings.

120 chicken wings

which comes out to 8 chicken wings per person (including the baby).

Not insane if chicken wings are the entire meal. Right? I mean, you can eat 5-6 chicken wings. Can’t you?

But it's a totally insane amount of chicken wings if that headcount includes toddlers and the wings are meant to be an appetizer which no one at the table asked for to begin with!

Oh, man.

…

At some point in a haze of chewing my family tried to defend me by asking the waitstaff why they didn't say, "Hey, that's a lot of chicken wings."

Who knows. It's not their fault. It's my fault.

I went out of earshot to place this "order for the table," knowing I can be excessive, knowing I can be indulgent, knowing I can move too quickly and that I didn't need to order for anyone because everyone is capable of reading the menu except the toddlers who by in large don’t have the dexterity to eat chicken wings off the bone!

I set myself up to fail when all I needed to do was chill!

and I realized I have no chill.

…

In this spirit of accountability and entertainment, I present to you, dear friend, the order I placed for the table in it's totality:

3 FULL orders of soy sauce and garlic wings

and 3 FULL orders of original fried wings

(A full order is not a dozen as you may expect. It’s…)

20 pieces.

Also, 6 orders of kimchi pancakes please

and 2 vegetable bibimbaps for myself and my husband (which come with soup, sides, tofu, etc.)

and THEN my trusting family — who didn’t hear what I had done — asked what they should order so I advised them to all order bibimbap too. So everyone got MORE food.

someone even got bulgogi.

Finally, I exhaled, I did the thing. I took care of my family.

…

and once the parade of wings and rice and kimchi slowed down we ate for a really, really long time.

This dinner could’ve been a happy, triumphant time for me but it wasn’t. I spent the entire meal ashamed of my mistake.

Our collective efforts to eat away my error made no difference. I had lost.

As the sauces congealed and the kids started to run a muck, our table began to resemble a casino buffet. My mess was on full display. The waste was inescapable.

I failed.

to take care of my family. And 60 chickens lost their wings.

…

ughh do I have to mention trauma from covid and food insecurity, a life long battle with anorexia healed by pregnancy, childhood neglect, IBS, empty fridges, years of financial destitution —

I don’t think so.

What does any of that matter now? I’m physically healthy with access to food and the ability to provide it for myself and others.

City life, finally. Even, take-out at any hour.

Is it that I

need to remember not to impulsively behave by default or I run the risk of tapping into previous methods of madness that no longer apply?

Maybe.

But if you give a mouse a cookie

…

At some point, waiters at Pyeong Chang Tofu 버클리 평창 순두부 offered us mounds of to-go containers and piles of plastic bags.

because my mess was so wasteful and expensive, friends and family loving agreed to eat chicken wings for every meal for days

and the next morning when 40 cannolis, 4 salads, a platter of shrimp, crudités, and

14 large pizzas arrived for my daughter’s 1st birthday party I shook my head and all I could think was

they’re going to want a glass of milk to go with the cannolis.

HERE, MOUSE

by If You Give a Mouse a Cookie