Globes, Schlobes.

Judging from the many Facebook posts last night and into today, many of you watched the Golden Globes. I too jumped at the chance to marvel at the beautiful dresses and see the movies I should be watching. Being the old lady that I am, I have noticed that I tend to be so far out of the pop culture loop that I unfortunately have no idea what the kids are up to these days. So last night, determined to be in the know, I poured a margarita and began watching the much anticipated award show.

I began by watching the red carpet, because really, that's the most interesting part. I have no shame in oohing over dresses, screaming OMG! she's so skinny! and seeing who is a hot mess and who is so perfect I obviously hate her. However, I barely made it ten minutes in before I became so enraged that steam started coming out of my ears and tequila sweat seeped through my pores. Ryan Seacrest was interviewing Cate Blanchett and asked her how much her entire ensemble cost. "Oh I don't know," she regally purred. In a completely blase, this is so beneath me voice she then followed up with (and I'm paraphrasing), "$20,000? I have a lot of security guards following me."

Well color me red, I was beyond irritated. I have no problem with rich people. Good for them. In fact, I hope to be a rich people some day. But is it necessary to ask someone how much their whole outfit costs? Duh. It's obviously super expensive. The woman is dripping in Armani and fine jewels. Her ensemble costs more than what the average American makes in a year, folks. But that's not my issue. I just don't understand when it became appropriate to ask the super rich famous person to advertise just how much their outfit is worth and when we became so eager to know.

And even more infuriating was the response to the question. The I'm so above this question, money is entirely disposable, I can hardly be bothered to know the cost answer. I'm sure that perhaps she did not want to disclose the amount for fear of being thought of as boastful, but it came across as completely arrogant and out of touch and it made me drink my cheap pre-made Costco margarita in a fitful rage. And did I mention I was wearing pajamas I bought on Groupon? Just to add insult to injury. I suggest that perhaps she should have said something quirky and hilarious to offset the elitest question so that I could have snuggled back down into the sofa, content to put my Target slipper clad feet up on my discount furniture store coffee table.

Then, just when I was rambling on in righteous indignation to my husband, a Bing commercial came on highlighting everyday women who were this year's heroes. The commercial included Malala Yousafzai, women serving in the United States military, and Margaret Thatcher just to name a few. I got to thinking, why don't we have an awards show highlighting the everyday person who made an incredible difference? They can show up on a red carpet and be decked out in the finest fashions and be honored for doing something amazing. I promise I won't wave a judgmental fist in their direction and rant on about the nature of their condescending responses to absolutely ridiculous questions because perhaps they would be asked about topics of substance.

That would be worth watching. But then, I suppose, I would have nothing to babble on about.

Merry & Bright? Oh, yeah right.

Yesterday began like any other day. Thumbalina woke up at 4, then again at 5, and one more time for good measure at 6. She then fell asleep into a slumber so serene I spent a few moments pondering the same question I find myself asking every morning around this time. What the heck is in my breast milk at 6am that isn't in there at 4? For crying out loud, why can't she fall into this deep a sleep while it's still dark outside and the thought of coffee hasn't even entered my mind? Then I spent exactly one second thinking that perhaps I too, would go back to sleep - which is when I was hit with an epiphany. If I were to fall asleep, that's when she would decided to wake up. That sneaky little turkey. So naturally, as long as I get the day started she will remain asleep. That is messed up, little one. Well played.

So there I was, hyped up on coffee at the crack of dawn, making bad decisions that sound like good ones at the time. You know the kind - the overly ambitious ones that used to be made at 2am over strong cocktails. I thought, hey! It's the day before Christmas Eve, so what better time than now to become Super Mom and get all of my errands done before half of the city has had its coffee. I was shaking and sweating with the anticipation of all that would be accomplished. Now all I have to do is vacuum the floors, fold the laundry, empty the dishwasher, take out the garbage and wait for the little bug to wake up. Nothing to it.

Of course she decided to become a lady of leisure that morning and slept in. 

With my coffee buzz quickly wearing off, I finally managed to strap her into her car seat and run my designated errands. When I finished, I felt quite accomplished and decided that this would be the time to text my husband and brag about how awesome I am and how doesn't he think that since I am so amazing my talents would be better served staying home and never going back to my day job again. Alas, this text was never to be sent because what did Super Mom do? Somehow lost her cell phone in a caffeine induced frenzy. Thumbalina and I spent the next hour retracing our steps trying to find my lifeline to the rest of the world. 

I said 5,000 desperate prayers to St. Anthony and, I'm sorry to say, by the last prayer I used some prime choice curse words to express my feelings to the lovely patron saint of lost things. I am pretty sure I actually did this out loud in the Target shopping center, so I looked like an angry religious zealot with a side of coffee crazed mom and a dash of verge of meltdown baby. And then, when all hope was lost, the heavens opened and the choir of angels began singing because there, underneath the SUV of another frazzled mother lay my cell phone. 

So I apologized profusely to St. Anthony and feeling a burst of newly renewed energy, I rushed home to make eggnog cupcakes just in time for the holidays! 

Okay. Those eggnog cupcakes just about killed me. First of all, in my day, baking used to be synonymous with day drinking. I looked longingly at the margarita mix and then cast a sidelong glance at the little one. With a gigantic sigh and just a little too much responsibility, I resentfully resigned myself to carrot juice instead. I rushed around the kitchen measuring a thousand cups of powdered sugar and whipping my egg whites into glossy peaks. Hold on - just what the heck is a glossy peak? I hope they meant frothy mess because that is exactly what it was. Thumbalina hung out in her Bumbo seat watching my every move and yelling at me periodically. She even chucked her Sophie the Giraffe at me, much to the pooch's chagrin. The pooch loves that toy and I know it broke her heart to see such a delicious chew toy being flung about in such a careless manner. Despite being caked with frosting and trying to alternate mixing flour and eggnog into a batter, the little one took no pity on this baking challenged woman and demanded to be fed. And so, because I fancy myself Super Mom, I turned myself into Stretch Armstrong and reached my boob across the kitchen to feed that squawking child of mine. The whole time I was hoping that the mailman would not pick that moment to deliver one of my many online shopping packages to our doorstep, for oh what a Christmas sight he would behold - although it would serve him right, the cheeky trickster. He never delivers the mail at the same time everyday and I spend all day anxiously awaiting the mail. It is, sadly, the highlight of my day - but I digress.

I finally got those cupcakes baked and now it was time for the frosting. Turns out I am no good at frosting those delicious little pastries, but what they lack in aesthetics they make up for in taste. They are delicious and it only took me an entire day to bake them!

I'm sure that at this point you are sick of reading my ramblings and are thinking "c'mon, get to the point! Give us that eggnog cupcake recipe!" So here it is. May your Christmas Eve be filled with love, joy, and just enough booze to take the edge off!

This is what they are supposed to look like:

Photo courtesy of Taste of Home magazine

And, this is what mine looked like. Definitely won't be winning any Cupcake Wars any time soon!