That’s the way the cookie crumbles

There are some phrases that I totally dislike hearing. Always have. Ever since I was a child, the phrase that earned its rightful place near the top of my personal cringe list was: That’s the way the cookie crumbles. After all, what could be more disappointing than the crumbs of a cookie when you are so close to having the whole thing? 

Our amazing Cookie Bearer - with a batch of her hazelnut cookies.

 The reason for this intro is that right now I could care less about a crumbled cookie. Instead, my much greater disappointment would be not scoring two tickets to the Ellen Degeneres show between May 15th-17^th. I desperately want one for my youngest daughter, the Cookie Bearer, which also means that I need one for The Moi. She and I are in this gig together.

You see, for Christmas, my husband and I gave her the present of a weeklong stay at the Best Western Plus Carriage Inn in Burbank. Our plan was that I would rent a car, and we would toodle about, and she would be able to visit lots of the places where movies and TV shows are made. The star attraction that we kept returning to wanting to see was the Ellen Degeneres show being filmed. How can you beat that?

As soon as tickets became available for our dates, The Cookie Bearer walked as fast as she could from her house to ours, which is a little more than a kilometer, and got my husband to nail down two tickets for us. The message that completed the transaction said that we would hear about our tickets within two weeks. After we had passed the two week mark, and heard nothing, I wrote to the fan web site. Twice. Still silence. Now, our only resort is the magic number that you call for a limited number of tickets on the day the show is being taped.

Our daughter is an amazing woman. She turns thirty this year, and has confounded all the experts who predicted major doom for her when she was born and diagnosed with CDLS. I will never forget being told that she would only have a 50/50 chance of living past the age of two, and that if she did, that she would be profoundly retarded and autistic. The first years were the hardest, with sleepless nights, failure to thrive, and hospital stays, but she made it through. With her own gumption coupled with the support of others, she even graduated from High School.

She now works part-time at Canadian Tire and lives independently at Roberts Creek Cohousing where she does volunteer work helping the treasurer by writing cheques and paying the bills. All of this is part of a big-time miracle. Even so, it doesn’t mean that life is easy. The nickel and diming of the syndrome costs her in countless ways on a daily basis. What I admire about her is that she faces each day, and takes it as it comes. Whenever I fret about something, she says: Mum, it will all be OK.

Already, in readiness for our holiday, she is checking out the daily temperatures in Burbank, and planning what to pack. As for me, I will probably leave all that to the last minute, fling it all together and hope for the best. Aside from remembering important things like my passport, what I am really hoping for is one of those minor miracles that will cause her heart to soar. I really don’t want to hear ... well, you know. (That thing about the cookie.) Maybe if all our friends send energy into the universe, maybe something will budge, and then on May 15^th  (or 16^th or 17^th) when I dial that magic number, I will hear a person on the other side say: Two tickets? Yes. You can pick them up at the door.

Our Cookie Bearer  is presiding over a table set with place mats that she made for me for Xmas. Many talents.

PS This piece for my blog has been written by myself, with helpful editing suggestions made by the aforementioned Cookie Bearer.