Cuss Cookies/ Quaker Oatmeal Cookies/ or cookies for my mom

Ever since my son was born 2 years ago, it has become a weekly tradition that my husband, son, and I dine at my parents' house.  A week ago Sunday, I announced to my folks that I was planning on baking cookies, did they have any requests?

Two varying, equally predictable responses simultaneously came my way.

Dad: "Chocolate chip."
Mom: "Oatmeal."

Easy enough, I think.

Me: "Just chocolate chip?"
Dad: "Chocolate chip with...wait...never mind."
Me: "Ah, you wanted nuts, didn't you?" "Sorry, no can do."  (My son has severe nut allergies).
Dad: "Ooh! I know!  Pecan Sandies! (Hangs head sheepishly). Right, doesn't work either."
Me: "Riiight."

Mom: "I said I want oatmeal"

Dad and I concede.

Mom: "And none of that fancy (insert euphemism for poop).  Just the classic Quaker recipe."
Me: "Ma'am! Yes, Ma'am!"

Fast forward.  That Wednesday is my 5th wedding anniversary, and I decided to make my husband adorably cheesy piped and flooded sugar cookies: 5's for our wedded years, a little boy for our two year old, A's, N's, W's, and P's for our initials, hands with wedding bands,... you get the idea.

It should be said that making and icing these "simple" sugar cookies from scratch includes outlining, flooding, dyeing, decorating, and drying.  It is extremely fun.  They turn out precious, but Heavens to Betsy, they are TIME-CONSUMING!  What I thought was going to be a couple hour project spanned days.  All of which is fine.  It was for my anniversary after all.  They turned out delicious, and most importantly, my husband enjoyed them.  Goal=accomplished.  But what that meant was mom's cookies were delayed.  Not good.

Back to those oatmeal cookies.  It is Friday, and my boy is in bed sleeping, and it's time to make my parents' cookies.  I whip out the oats and am ready to begin.  Dad and I want a few chocolate chips in ours.  Dad likes oatmeal cookies, I don't.  I'm hankering for something delicious, so the chocolate chips make them palatable to me.  He just likes chocolate.  I establish with my hubby, no raisins in his, please.  I have this nagging feeling in my side though, better check with mom.  So, being the dutiful, eldest daughter that I am, I call her to determine her preference.  Our conversation goes a little something like this:

Ring, ring...
Mom: "Your ears must have been burning."
Me: "Huh?  Why?"
Mom: "Well, I was just (insert female dog here)-ing to you father that I haven't gotten my d--n cookies yet (laughs)."
Me: "Well, I was actually calling to see if you want raisins.  You do, right?"
Mom: "Oh, well, yes."  (Doesn't miss a beat)  "When do I get them?"
Me: "Um..."  (This woman wants home-delivery, too?!)
Mom: "Tomorrow?" (A sad trailing off)



Sidebar
Some of you might think my mom cusses like a sailor, and I must protest.  She curses much, much more.  This is the edited version (j/k-mommy! Luv u.)  (She can't help it though, it might be all of those years working with the good ol' boys, but I think it is deeper than that.  It's in her blood, you should hear her brothers.)

Here are the Cuss Cookies.  Apparently, good enough to swear for. 



And yes, they are pretty f-ing good!