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“Man, I knew I shouldn’t have eaten so much yesterday.  Now I’m starving,” I murmur the next morning as I stand in front of the open refrigerator.

“That’s great, Mom,” Kookie remarks as he walks into the kitchen.

I glance up at my adorable eldest.  Why is that great?”

“Because I’m about to feed you.  Well, in a couple hours anyway.”

“Huh?”

“I’m going to make some hotteok.”

“Can I help?” comes a quiet voice from the doorway.

Kookie and I both turn our heads to take in the pretty girl standing on the threshold of our kitchen.  Emmie looks adorable.  She’s wearing her new Kookie hoodie.  It’s dwarfing her, halfway to her knees.

My son is momentarily distracted by her cuteness.  All he can do is nod his head.

Emmie steps softly into the room and crosses it to stand in front of him.  “Where’s the recipe?”

He snaps out of his trance.  “In that cupboard.”

He points, and she crosses to open the door and pull out the black binder holding the book of our favorite recipes.  She pulls it down and thumbs through the book until she finds the right recipe.  She begins to read the directions aloud. 

“One cup lukewarm water.”  She stops.  “What does lukewarm mean?” I hear Emmie ask.

I’m shaking my head.  How does she not know the meaning of lukewarm?

“As warm as Luke,” Kookie murmurs jokingly.

Emmie glances up at him.  “Who’s Luke?”

“He’s that cute guy in Trig,” Janna adds her two cents to the conversation as she enters the kitchen.

“Oh, yeah,” Emmie says with such emphasis that Kookie glances sharply at her. 

“Just exactly how cute is Luke?” Kookie queries.

“Not too cute,” Emmie murmurs as she gazes adoringly up at my gorgeous son.

“Yeah,” Janna remarks, “he’s just passing cute.  Not near as cute as Lyric.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” comes a deep voice from the doorway. 

I glance up at another beautiful young man.  “Lyric!” I greet him, wondering who let him in.  “How’d you get in the house?”

He laughs.  “Abs let me in.”

“I always knew that boy was smart,” I mutter happily.

Emmie croaks the recipe to Kookie in the goofy voice of a cranky, old woman, “Stir together one cup lukewarm water,” her voice cracks, “two tablespoons sugar, two teaspoons yeast, one tablespoon oil, and a half teaspoon salt.  Let the yeast proof for about five minutes until it gets foamy.”

Laughing, Kookie crosses to the fridge to grab the yeast.  “Em, can you grab the measuring spoons and a measuring cup out of that drawer?”  He points across the room, then he grabs the saltshaker off the counter before snagging a container of oil from the lazy Susan that lies beneath the intersection of two long counters.  He glances down at his armload of supplies.  “What am I forgetting?”

“The sugar,” she responds and crosses the room to grab the sugar box out of the cupboard above her head. 

I marvel at the teamwork between these two.

“How do we make the water lukewarm?” she asks.

“Oh, that’s easy,” says my experienced chef, Kookie.  “It means warm it up to about one hundred five degrees.”  He glances at me.  “Right, Mom?”

I grin and nod my head.  “You’re a quick learner, Kook.”  No pun intended.

“Em, I think we should double the recipe.  I’m really hungry.  So is Mom.”  He glances at me mischievously.

“That’s right.  I’m going to eat four hotteok by myself.”

“We better triple the recipe then,” Kookie teases me.

I grin.  “Really, I’ll eat two.”  Yes, they are that good.

Once the yeast mixture has proofed, Emmie continues reading the recipe in her goofy, ancient voice, “Add two cups flour and knead with the mixer until smooth.”

Once the dough is ready, they cover the bowl with a damp towel to let it rise for an hour.  Everyone departs the kitchen.  I’m the last one out the door.

“Hey, hon.  The kids are making us hotteok for breakfast,” I inform my husband as I step into the living room a couple minutes later.

“Hot ok?” he asks.  Once again giving a new name to something.

I chuckle.  I think of its name.  Hotteok.  Hot te ok.  “Hottie ok,” I correct him.

“Ok, hottie,” he responds with a teasing grin.

“Who you calling a hottie?” I demand jokingly as I cross the room to give him a kiss.  I mean, what else are you going to do when your husband calls you a hottie?

––

An hour later, the timer goes off.  I enter the kitchen and stop its whining with my index finger.  If only all irritations were so easily silenced.  I glance down at the dough.  Dough that fifteen minutes ago was spilling up out of the bowl.  Now it’s sagging down into the middle of the bowl.  I frown as I stare at this failed experiment.  What happened to the dough?

Kookie and Emmie enter the kitchen.  Kookie glances at the dough.  He tilts the bowl, and the dough jiggles.  “What’s wrong with this dough?”  He pokes it with his finger, and his finger slides right through it.  “Mom?”

I take a closer look at it.  “Um…you tripled the recipe, right?”

They nod.

“Except you didn’t,” I propose.

“What?”

“I think you forgot to triple the flour.”

“No, I put twelve third-cups in,” Emmie insists.

Wrinkling my forehead, I query, “Are you sure?”

“Um, maybe not,” she admits sheepishly.

“Wait, it wasn’t twelve.  That’s doubling the recipe.  We should have tripled it.  Eighteen,” Kookie points out.

Emmie grimaces.

“Can we fix it, Mom?” Kookie is gazing enquiringly down at me.

“Easily.  Just add the flour now.  One-third of a cup at a time.  Until it’s firm enough.”

A few minutes later, they show me the finished product. 

“Is this right?” Kookie asks.

I nod as I poke the firm dough with my finger.  “Yup.”

“Now what?”

“Now you let it rise again.”

They both groan. 

“But we’re so hungry.”

“Sorry,” I wince.  “Give it a half hour and then you can cook them.”

With a sigh, they cover the bowl with a damp towel again before heading back to the Nintendo Switch tournament taking place in the boys’ room.

—

Half an hour later, they return with Janna to check the dough. 

Emmie reads the recipe, “Punch down the dough.” 

She proceeds to punch the dough several times.  Violently.  Kookie’s eyes nearly bug out of his head as he bursts out laughing.

Janna instructs her best friend, “Chill out.  This is not a boxing match.”

I chuckle. 

Kookie grabs the brown sugar and cinnamon. 

Emmie reads the recipe.  “We’re supposed to mix together a half cup of brown sugar and a teaspoon of cinnamon.”

“And some walnuts or chopped peanuts.”

She grimaces.  “Can we leave the nuts out?”

He shrugs.  “Sure.  Wait.  We need to triple this recipe too, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Emmie murmurs.

After they cut the dough into twenty-four equal parts, they roll each into a ball after liberally flouring their hands.

“Now what do we do?” Emmie asks my son.

“We flatten each ball into a disc and put a tablespoon of filling in the center.  Then we pinch the edges together.”

In short order, they have all twenty-four balls of dough ready to go.  Kookie heats up the griddle then pours two tablespoons of oil on it.  Once the oil is hot, he places a dough ball on it, sealed side down before pressing down on the hotteok to flatten it into a wide disc.

“How long do we cook them?” Emmie queries.

“Until the bottom is golden brown.  Then we flip it and cook that side golden brown too.”

Emmie starts to bounce up and down on her toes.  “I can’t wait to eat one!  I’m so hungry.”

“I’m famished,” Kookie groans as he adds more dough balls to the griddle.  “Hotteok takes forever to make.”

“But it’s completely worth the investment of your time, Kook,” I murmur appreciatively.  “Thanks for making us breakfast.”

He grins shyly at me.

Then I decide to give him a tip.  “If you use my little rolling pin to flatten the balls into discs before you put them on the griddle, they’ll cook a little more evenly.”

“Oh!” he exclaims.  “Thanks, Mom!”

“Just a little something I learned through trial and error,” I admit as I smile adoringly at him.

Then I watch as he and Emmie follow my instructions.

A few minutes later, I’m trying valiantly not to burn the edge of my tongue off as it navigates the delightfully bubbling world of brown sugar syrup and hot hotteok cake.  Kookie and Emmie have created a masterpiece.  A delicious masterpiece.

“Guys, these are the best hotteok any of us has ever made.  The dough isn’t too sticky this time, and the extra oil made them crisp on the outside.  They are just perfect.”

“It’s all Emmie’s fault,” Janna points out.  “If she hadn’t messed up the recipe, we would have followed it to a T, and the dough would have been too sticky.”

“Good job, Emmie.  You should mess up our recipes more often.  In order to perfect them.”  I grin at her as I take another bite of a hotteok that is perfectly crisp on the outside and warmly fluffy on the inside.  I might just have to eat three of these.

––

“Mommy?” Everett approaches me in the kitchen later that afternoon.

“Hmm?”

“Can I invite Allie to our New Year’s Eve party?”

I glance sharply at my quiet son.  “You want to invite Allie?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Is this a favor for Noel?”

“No, this is for me.  I want to invite her.”

“But I thought Noel had a crush on her.”

Suddenly, Everett grins.  “Not anymore.”

“Oh?”  Now my curiosity is piqued.

“There’s a new girl in our class.  Noelle.  No likes her now.”

“Wait a minute.  Noel likes a girl named Noelle?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“That’s really funny.  Especially since it’s Christmas time.”

Everett scrunches up his nose.  “What do Noel and Noelle have to do with Christmas?”

“Duh, Ev.  Noel is the French word for Christmas.  Remember?  The First Noel?” Janna ribs her little brother as she enters the kitchen.  “The First Christmas?”

“Hey!  Be nice to your brother.  And you know he doesn’t like it when you call him Ev.”

“Wait a minute!” Everett exclaims.  “You mean Noel and Noelle both mean Christmas?”  The cutest little smile is dancing around his lips right now.

“Yep, that’s exactly right.  Noelle is just the feminine form of Noel.”

“So, they have the same name?”

“Basically, yes.  A double portion of Christmas.”

“That is kinda funny.”

“Everett, I have an idea.  Do you want to invite Allie and Noelle?” I suggest.

His eyes light up.  “Yeah!  Can I?”

“Sure.  But how are you going to let them know about the party?  You don’t have school between now and then.”

“That’s easy.  I have their phone numbers.”

“You do?” I ask, surprised.

“Yeah.  The four of us were assigned a group project, so we traded numbers right before Christmas break.”

“Ah.  And you’re actually going to pick up the phone and call them?”

“Well, actually…” he hems and haws.

“Actually what?” I ask suspiciously.

“I was wondering if you would call their moms and invite them.  They might think it’s weird that a boy is calling them, and they probably won’t let their daughters come if they don’t talk to you anyway.”

“I see.” 

I think about this for a moment.  It’s times like this that elevate the training of a parent to more difficult heights.  I could let Everett take the easy way out, but sometimes he’s too quiet for his own good. 

“I’ll tell you what.  You call the girls and invite them to the party, and you can tell them that I need to speak to their moms if they want to come.  How does that sound?”

He begins to grumble.  “Can’t you do it?  I don’t know how to talk on the phone.”

“That’s why you’re going to do it.  You need to learn.  It’s simple.  You just call and say, ‘Hi, I’m Allie’s friend, Everett.  Can I speak to her for a moment, please?’”

He wrinkles up his nose.  “But I don’t talk like that.”

“Well, it’s never too late to start,” I assert pertly.

“Huh?” he glances up at me.

“It’s important to be polite when speaking to strangers.  It’s time you learn.  Making a phone call is a life skill.  Come on, let’s practice.”  I pick up my home phone and hand it to him.  Then I pull my cellphone out of my pocket.  “Dial my phone number,” I command.

“Mahmmmmy.”

“Come on, Everett.  I’ll make your favorite dessert for the party if you make two successful phone calls.”

He furrows his brow.  “What’s a successful phone call?”

“You speak to two different people.  Over the phone.  Politely.  And complete your mission.”

“What’s my mission?”  His eyebrows are wrinkling now.

“To invite two girls to the party.”

He sighs deeply.  “You’ll make an apple pie if I do it?”

“Yep.”

“A homemade one?”

My head bobs up and down as I grin at him.

He turns on the phone and dials my number.  My phone buzzes in my hand.  I answer it.  “Hello.”

“Hi,” Everett responds.  Then…silence.

I coach him, whispering, “I’m Everett, Allie’s friend.  May I speak with her, please?”

“I’m Everett,” he mumbles imperceptibly, “Allie’s friend.  May I speak with her, please?”

“Perfect.  Only when you speak to her mom or dad, speak a little louder and more clearly.  Maybe you’ll luck out, and her big brother will answer the phone.”

“She doesn’t have a big brother.”

“Her big sister?” I query.

“It’s a possibility,” he concedes.

“Go get her phone number.  Let’s get this over with now.”  At his pained expression, I coax him, “Trust me.  It’s easier if you do it immediately.  That way you can’t stew.  You don’t have time.”

Another loud sigh, then he leaves the kitchen.  He returns a few moments later with a piece of paper in his hand.  He dials the top number.  I hover, listening in.

“Uh, hi.”

Silence.

“I’m Allie’s friend.  Can I speak to her, please?”

More silence.

“Everett…okay.”

He glances up at me as another interval of quiet – this time much longer – invades our kitchen.  I presume he’s waiting for Allie to come to the phone.  A moment later, my son begins to speak again.

“Hi,” Everett murmurs as his cheeks turn pink. 

He looks so shy.  And so…cute.  He is way too young to have a crush on a girl.  Isn’t he? 

“I wanted to invite you to our New Year’s Eve party.”

I can’t hear her response.  So disappointing.  But my son doesn’t look upset, so maybe it’s positive.

“Yeah, my mom said she can talk to your mom…Okay, I’ll put her on the phone.”  He hands me the telephone.  “She’s going to get her mom,” he informs me in a whisper.

“Oh, okay,” I smile at his cuteness.  He’s every bit as adorable as Kookie and my tiny tots. 

I watch his face for several moments until I’m suddenly distracted by a voice in my ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello.  This is Mrs. Franklin, Everett’s mother.  He’s calling to invite your daughter to our New Year’s Eve party.”

“Oh!  That’s very sweet of him.  Um…” Silence reigns for a moment.  “Can you hold on a minute?”

“Sure.”

A period of stillness occurs except that I think I can discern a conversation happening in the background.  Most likely between Allie and her mom.  Finally, a voice greets me again.

“What time is the party?”

“Our friends are coming over at seven o’clock.  Everyone is welcome to stay until after midnight, but she certainly doesn’t have to stay that late if you don’t want her to.  I have a couple of teenagers, so I know they’ll be up till all hours.”

“Will you be too?” she asks.

Good mom.

“Yes.  And I will be here the entire evening.  The kids will stay in a group in either our living room or our family room.  She won’t be alone with anyone.”

That’s right.  I’m a professional mom.  I’ve been doing this for seventeen years now.  I know all the mom qualms and the incessant concerns.  And how to nip them in the bud.

“Okay.  Let me discuss it with her father, and I’ll call you back.”

“Sure.  Thank you.  Bye.”  I hang up the phone and glance down at my expectant son.

“Is she coming?”  He’s on the edge of his seat.

“I don’t know.  She’s going to check with her dad.”

“Oh.”  His face falls.

“But good job, kiddo.  You just made your first successful phone call.  One more and you get apple pie.”

He grins at me.  And holds out his hand for the phone.  We repeat the process.  Only this time Noelle’s older brother answers the phone.  See that?  I knew there was a big brother in the mix somewhere.  When he passes the phone to Noelle, she squeals with excitement when Everett asks her if she wants to come to the party.

“Yes!  I’d love to come!  Thanks for inviting me, Everett!”

My, this girl is enthusiastic.  And loud.  I can hear her from several feet away.  And through a phone I’m not even holding.

“Don’t you need to ask your mom?”

“Just a minute.”  A pause occurs, then I hear her yell, “John!  Can I go to my friend’s house on New Year’s Eve?  Will you give me a ride on your way to your party?”

Right now, I’m a little concerned.  Doesn’t this girl have any parents?  Or does she simply call her dad by his given name?

Suddenly, John’s voice floats across the phone line.  “Hello?  Who am I speaking to?”

Everett looks panicked.  “Um, Everett.”

“Everett, can I talk to your mom?”

“Sure.”  Everett shoves the phone at me.  He is clearly relieved to pass his burden off to me.

“Hello, this is Everett’s mother, Mrs. Franklin.  Is this Noelle’s brother?”

“Yes.  I’m John.  Your son just invited her to a party on New Year’s Eve?”

“Yes, he did.  It will be here at our house.  I’ll be supervising the whole time.”

“Okay.  That sounds fine.  What time should I drop her off and pick her up?”

I’m a little confused.  “You don’t need to ask your parents if it’s okay for her to come?”

“I am her parents,” he answers me.

“I’m sorry?” I query, confused.

“I’m raising my sister.”  Suddenly, he chuckles.  “Oh, you must think I’m a kid, huh?  Nope.  I’m twenty-five.  Our…” he pauses for a moment.  Possibly moving away from his sister?  “Our parents died a couple of years ago.  I’m all Noelle has left.  I became her legal guardian and moved back home.”

“Oh, wow.  I’m so sorry to hear about your parents, but what a wonderful big brother you are.  To take care of your little sister.” 

I pause a moment before continuing, “The party starts at seven.  It ends after midnight, but you’re welcome to pick her up anytime.  I believe she has our address.”  I glance at Everett for confirmation.  He nods his head. 

“Okay.  That sounds great.  We’ll see you at seven o’clock on New Year’s Eve.”

“See you then.  Bye.”  I replace the phone in its cradle.

“Mom?  Is she coming?”

I turn around to face my son.  “Yes.  Everett, did you know that Noelle’s parents died a couple of years ago?”

“What?” A spasm crosses his face.  “No.”

“You were speaking to her big brother.  He’s an adult.  He’s her guardian now.  Which means he’s raising her in the place of her parents.”

“Oh.”

“I have a feeling that she really needs good friends.  I’m glad you and Noel have befriended her.”

He smiles at me.  “She can come?!  I’m so excited.  I gotta go tell No!”  He rushes out of the kitchen on his way to the twins’ bedroom where a Nintendo Switch tournament has been going on all day long.

This New Year’s Eve party is becoming the must-attend event of the year.  I find myself looking quite forward to it.

–– 

“Mom?”  This time it’s Janna’s voice breaking into my reverie.

“Hmm?”

“I want to throw Lyric a surprise party.  For his birthday.”

“Hmm.”

“On the twenty-ninth.”

“In three days?” I ask, startled.  “You want to plan and execute a party in three days?”

“You do it all the time.”

“Let’s not talk about me.  Everyone knows I’m a superhero,” I joke.

Janna looks affronted.  “What?  And I’m not a superhero?”

“Oh, no.  You are definitely a superhero.  You got it from both sides of the family.  It’s just that it’s subtler on your father’s side.”

She chuckles.  “Mahmm.  I was hoping you’d help me.”

“Well, of course, I’m going to help you.  I absolutely adore that boy!  We must make sure that he has an awesome birthday.  After all, he’s turning eighteen this year!”  My eyes collide with hers.  “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I want to invite all of his friends.  And he has a lot of friends.”

“Whoa.  Hold on a minute.  How many friends are we talking?”

“Um, I don’t know.  Twenty-five?” she shrugs her shoulders.

“And what were you hoping twenty-five teenagers would do at our house?”

Another shrug of those shoulders.  “Eat food and watch a movie?”

“What movie?”

“I don’t know.  Lyric’s taste in movies is a bit different than mine.  So, I’m going to have to hunt to find something we both like.”

“Unh-huh.  And what kind of food?”

“I wanted to make japchae.  He loves it.”

“Japchae for twenty-five people?” I ask incredulously.  “Janna, have you talked to his mom?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you about to duplicate her efforts?  Is she throwing him a party and inviting all his friends?  Keep in mind too that a lot of his friends may be out of town for the holiday.”

“They’re just having a family party.”

“Really?” I ask, surprised. 

“He invited me and Kookie and Emmie.  His sisters will be there and a couple other guys from school.”

“Hmm.  Do you think that it’s really important to Lyric to have all his friends at his party?”

She pauses a moment.  “Probably not.  He’s super popular.  But, honestly, I don’t think he even notices.”

“Okay, so what if we did a smaller party?  Maybe invite five of his closest friends and Emmie.  And we can make japchae.  And a cake?”  Unsure of his favorite dessert, I glance at her.

“Strawberry cake.”

“The artificial kind, or a vanilla cake with real strawberries and whipped cream?”

“Ooh!  Can we make both?”

“Yes, of course.  That way we can achieve our goal of gaining ten pounds this holiday season,” my pretty smile is at odds with my snide voice.  But then I laugh.  “It’s fine.  We can do both, but I’m eating only the real one.”

“I think Lyric will like both.”

“Probably,” I chuckle.  “I haven’t found anything that boy doesn’t like.”

“Coffee.”

“Ah, no wonder you’re such a perfect match then.” 

Janna is famous for despising coffee.  I never really cared for it until a certain someone sang, “caramel macchiato,” in the cutest way ever.  Perhaps I went through a season of indulging in homemade caramel macchiatos after that. 

I had my first one at a little coffee shop owned by a couple of friends of mine.  I went there to celebrate some really good news and treat myself to a little sweetened coffee.  The adorable girl who took my order instantly recognized me and recalled a moment when I was kind to her once.  She insisted on buying my coffee.  That caramel macchiato was all the sweeter for the way that it was given to me. 

I liked it from the first sip.  After that, I made my own at home.  And every time I took a drink, I thought of Jungkook.  And his adorable English accent.  But, of course, that was in my other universe. 

In this one, I tasted my first caramel macchiato at a Christmas party last year.  It wasn’t quite as good as the one Katie made me; still, I enjoyed it.  Every once in a while, I still treat myself to one.  Made at home with a sugar-free caramel extract instead of that amazingly delicious and fattening syrup.  Still, it tastes pretty good.

“Okay, Janna.  We can surprise Lyric with a little party.  You better text all of his friends today and let them know.  Find out how many are coming.  We’ll have to go shopping for japchae ingredients.  But first, make sure Lyric can hang out with us that night.  Otherwise, there’s no point in throwing a party.”

She nods.  “Thanks, Mom.”

“Hey, what are overworked and exhausted moms for?” I smile tremulously at her before closing my eyes and leaning my head back against my recliner.

–– 

Lyric just so happens to be free on Sunday night.  So Janna texts a corporate invite to his closest friends.  Amazingly, they all reply to the group text by the end of the evening.

“We’re all set, Mom,” she informs me cheerfully before heading to bed.  “Can we go shopping for the japchae ingredients tomorrow?”

And here I thought I was finally going to get a day off from my kitchen.  And the grocery store. 

“Sure,” I reply with a heavy sigh.  At least, no one else has a birthday in December.  But as soon as we’ve finished celebrating Lyric’s birthday, we’ll be gearing up for our New Year’s Eve party.

I think I need a vacation.  From vacations.  And all the food they seem to require.