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hi.
just wanted to let you know that i was thinking about you.
i don’t always get a chance to call.
or write.
or text.
but you were on my mind.
so i wanted to let you know.
hi.
The flu has come to our house and it is slapping us around like we owe it some money. The girls have fallen like dominoes, one right after the other, starting with Mo on Sunday, Co on Monday and Vivi on Monday night. Nothing saddens me more than seeing all three of them all deflated in their beds as the fever and coughing saps them of their energy.
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They all had the flu shot, as did the hubs and I. Thankfully, he is still well, whereas I’ve got something blooming in my throat that makes coughing feel like someone taking a hammer to my chest with each exhalation. It’s been a long five days to say the least. I have dosed everyone with alternating cocktails of acetaminophen, ibuprofen, expectorants and suppressants. The oft described fever dream is real, let me tell you. At least twice during the last few days, Mo has wandered downstairs in the middle of the night, glassy eyed and burning bright, looking for Co. Co, has been sitting in her bed, one leg protruding from under the covers for some relief, singing a song about “Where’s my banana?” and Vivi? She’s just a lump formerly known as baby, clinging to my hip and shoulder like a koala.
Parenting, as I’ve said before, is a challenge. When everyone is down for the count, including Mom, it feels near impossible. Once I get one little person squared away, another is coughing and croaking kurt requests for juice, tissues, or story-time. I’m pin balling between rooms, have the washing machine going double time to keep the sheets clean and you’d think we’d been drinking the hand santizer given how much we’ve gone through to keep the germs at bay. I started to feel like “stir fried-s#it” (to quote the hubs) on Tuesday afternoon. It’s turned in something that’s probably the flu (I’m going to the doc today), despite having had a flu shot already. This isn’t the first time I’ve fallen ill during the Christmas holiday. I can recall at least three other instances and one of which where I’m pretty sure I had bronchitis and a touch of pneumonia, I just didn’t go see the doc because — everyone else was sick. I know I can’t be a help to anyone if I don’t take care of myself, but the kids are looking like they’ve been run over by Santa’s sleigh and wiping their noses on pieces of coal. I’ve been trying to get them on the mend and tending to myself afterwards. Raise your hand if you know of what I speak. Yeah, I thought so.
I’ve called in all my favors from when I injured my leg. I’m pretty sure my parents have blocked my number. The babysitter came for a bit so I could at least go out and stock up on supplies, but I don’t want her catching this crud. Last night, I implored the hubs to stay home, something that I was loathe to do, but my health had taken quite a turn for the worse. By this morning, I must have looked like crap on toast, because not only did he stay home, he called the pediatrician and set up appointments for the girls, then he dosed me with some hot salt water with which to gargle and sent me back to bed. I’ve got a keeper.
Anyway, it’s about noon. The girls diagnosis has come in as the flu, but unless you get diagnosed within the first 24 hours, they can’t give you anything to knock it out except a suggestion for some DM laced cough meds and a “go with God”. Our house is littered with tissue packets, cough drop wrappers, ear covers for the thermometer, and the like. The lovies have been handed out, pi’s are on and so is the TV; I don’t even care at this point. Naps will be had all around.
Last night, I was awakened by Mo’s persistent cough. It just broke my heart because I know how painful it must be for her. I brought her some juice, some medicine and some cough drops. I put some Vicks Vapo on her chest and the bottoms of her feet. She snuggled into my arms and let me stroke her hair as her breathing became less labored and more even. Between coughing fits, she said, “You really know how to take care of a cold, Mom.” My poor little schmoo!
I’m just doing what I remember my own mom doing for me. Propping up pillows, wiping down my face with a cool washcloth, and just sitting with me. We used to have this cool mist humidifier that my mom would place on my nightstand to help eradicate some of the dryness in the room. She would tell me not to touch it, to let it just do it’s job, but as soon as she left the room, I put my whole face right up on it to get at the cool vapors. My face and hair thoroughly dampened, I would lie back on my pillows and drift off into a Robitussin filled sleep. Sometimes my mom would bring me a hot toddy — I was older by this point — and that honey,lemon, bourbon combination would ease the lightening bolts of pain in my throat and help me drop off to a more restful sleep.
The girls aren’t quite old enough for that yet, so we’re just doing some regular tea with milk and honey. When their coughs were at their worst, I just gave them teaspoonfuls of honey to coat their throats. That was the first time I saw them smile in a long time. I tried it myself, but I prefer my honey diluted with some lemon and tea. While I wait for this Mucinex to kick in, I’m going to stir up a home remedy. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow for Recipe Friday. . .if not, I’ll probably be in the bottom of my tea cup.
Dr. Pat’s Hot Toddy Cold Remedy
Ingredients
2 ounces whiskey (we use Jack Daniels)
1 tablespoon honey
4 ounces water (hot from the tap)
1 teaspoon lemon juice (we use the stuff in the plastic lemon)
1 slice fresh lemon (if we don’t have this we don’t use it) (optional)
Directions
1. Place the whisky in a large microwave safe mug*.
2. Add the honey.
3. Pour the hot water into the mug over the spoon you used for the honey to get off the last little drops.
4. Add the lemon juice and stir well.
5. Place the mug in the microwave for 1 minute or until it is piping hot, but not boiling.
6. Add the lemon slice and serve.
*If you don’t have a microwave, which we don’t, you can pour the whiskey in a small cup or glass and submerge it in some boiling water until it’s the right temperature.
I’m late (or early, depending on how you look at it) with the recipe! Time is just flying away from me. There aren’t enough hours in the day for me to get done the things that I want to get done, the things that I need to get done, and the things that have to get done.
By the time everyone is up, fed, dressed, and out the door, I turn my attention to things in the house that have been calling me. Would you believe I’ve been letting dishes fester in the sink?! So unlike me. The trash cans are overflowing, there’s laundry to be done, groceries to be purchased, presents to be wrapped. What, you ask, has me so neglectful? It’s not Pinterest (this time). I’m not catching up on Scandal on DVR. I’m not scrapbooking, either.
I’m reveling in my new freedom! No more boot, snitches!! Woop! Woop!
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| awww, yeah! |
And I’ve been playing with my new photography backdrop. I decided to upgrade to a paper backdrop for a more seamless, professional look. The bed sheet over my backdrop stand was economical, but it really just photographed poorly. The paper backdrop is ah-may-zing! You can’t even tell that’s my living room, can you?
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| baby mohawks are funny for everyone but the baby. |
So, the girls have been my unwilling models as I test things out. Seeing as how I can pay them in cookies, my overhead stays low and their enthusiasm stays high. I’ve also been busy with holiday shoot. Trying to fit everyone into the schedule is a great problem to have. I’m getting to a point where I can say that I love what I do. For a while, I was hesitant to embrace my status as a professional photographer or to say that I really liked it. I was afraid that doing so would invite some bad karma. Nothing specific that I could point to, but just that feeling of second guessing myself or feeling like I’ve totally blown a shoot. I had this feeling that one minute I’d be breaking my arm patting myself on the back and the next I’d be banging my head against the wall like, “Why? Why? What was I thinking?”
The other day, I was on my way to a shoot and realized, I’ve been doing this for over a year now. I’m not an amateur photographer. I have people seek me out and pay me to take their photographs. I am donating my services to a silent auction. I’ve built a sizable portfolio. My skills are constantly developing (no pun intended). I’ve got great equipment. I’ve got repeat clients. I can say with confidence and pride, “I am a photographer,” when asked what I do.
I had a bittersweet moment at the hubs’ office party when I was able to correct someone who assumed I stayed home taking care of the children. A couple of years ago, someone I had just met asked me if I was a lawyer like the hubs, and when I said, “No, I’m at home with our children,” this person literally said, “Oh,” and turned their back to me to strike up a conversation with someone else.
Literally.
But, as I was saying. . .
As I’ve discussed before, taking care of kids is no easy feat, whether you’re working from home, at home, outside of the home or any derivation where the home is concerned. I loathe the whole “mommy wars” phenomena that has been created, continually stirred up and perpetuated by the media. Parenting is hard, no matter who is doing it. Period. For someone to dismiss me because that’s how I choose to spend my wake-filled hours is hurtful and disrespectful. While I did take a small measure of pride identifying my occupation as a photographer, I felt like I had to put that first, and relegate my work as a parent in order to hold the attention of the other person. I just had the weirdest thought: It’s like the end of Dirty Dancing and instead of Johnny telling Dr. Houseman that no one puts baby in a corner, it’s me telling that yahoo that no one puts motherhood in a corner. Too much? Yeah, it sounded better in my head, too.
No one puts as much pressure on myself as I do, so I know that my choice was my own. Still, the fact that I go through such mental gymnastics speaks to the state of affairs in which we find ourselves.
I just read an article on Huffington Post by Amy Morrison entitled, “Why You Are Never Failing As a Mother,” and it was so timely. Earlier in the day, I was failing. I had been overseeing a playdate between Mo, Co and a friend, trying to get them to slow down as they decorated cookies, put the sprinkles ON the cookies instead of IN their mouths, defrost some dinner, run a load of laundry, answer some emails, and deal with the massive poop Vivi gifted me with nary a wipe in sight. Fast forward to the end of the night, when everyone was tucked in. I finally got around to reading the article and it felt like Morrison was giving me a “hang in there” high five.
She writes, “. . . but I’m just saying that we are part of a generation that considers parenting to be a skill. Like a true skill that needs to be mastered and perfected and if we don’t get it right, we think our kids suffer for it — and that’s hard sh*t to keep up with. That’s not to say other generations didn’t have it tough or think parenting was important, but there just wasn’t the same level of scrutiny that could be liked, tweeted or instagramed all at once.
You are in the trenches when you have a baby. To the untrained eye it seems pretty straightforward and easy — you feed them, you bathe them, you pick them up when they cry — but it’s more than that. It’s perpetual motion with a generous layer of guilt and self-doubt spread on top, and that takes its toll.
Feeling like you also need to keep on top of scrapbooking, weight loss, up-cycled onesies, handprints, crock pot meals, car seat recalls, sleeping patterns, poo consistency, pro-biotic supplements, swimming lessons, electromagnetic fields in your home and television exposure is like trying to knit on a rollercoaster — it’s f*cking hard.
We live in a time when we can Google everything, share ideas and expose our children to amazing opportunities, but anyone that implies that they have it figured out is either drunk or lying (or both), so don’t be too hard on yourself.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” I need this tattooed on my forehand, my forearm, my forefinger. It’s not that my own mom hasn’t told me this about four billion times, but reading it again from someone who doesn’t know me personally, but does know the road I’m on. . .well, my mom is supposed to be my cheerleader, you know? I know I shouldn’t worry about what other people think about me. What I think about myself is the most important thing. I think I’m getting the job done. I mean, they’re still alive, right? I’m being flip, of course. I know that I’m doing the right things for my girls. I’m setting good examples and following the best practices set forth by my own parents and in-laws.
In the wake of the tragedies around the countries that have captured our hearts and attention, I’m reminded to not be too hard on myself, or on the girls. I’m giving extra hugs and kisses. I’m saying more prayers. I’m letting little things slide just a bit more. I’m giving in to dessert more often than not. Of course, the veggies have to be eaten first. . .that’s a non-negotiable.
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| The “Down with Veggies” Face. |
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Sauteed Asparagus with Garlic and Cherry Tomatoes
Ingredients
1 bunch asparagus, ends snapped or spears sliced into coins
1 pint cherry tomatoes, halved
3 tbs minced garlic
2 tbs olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
Directions
Heat the olive oil over medium heat in a saucepan.
Add minced garlic, stirring until it begins to turn brown.
Add asparagus, stirring occasionally and cooking until bright green and tender, about 5-7 minutes.
Add tomatoes, stirring until softened, another two minutes.
Sprinkle with salt and pepper and serve hot.
Another week in the books. Another week with the boot. The end is in sight, though. This time next week, I’ll be bootless! I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to wear two shoes at the same time. Maybe I’ll be putting up pictures of myself in the boot for Throwback Thursday . . .in a few years though.
Ahhh, #tbt. The first time I saw that hashtag, I had no idea what it meant. Yes, I Googled it. Now, I’m all about it. But, I’ve always been taking pictures and saving things to pull out for remember when moments. If you and I did something together, chances are I’ve got a picture of it somewhere. This week, I threw up a few pictures from college — one from a trip to the Vineyard with some friends and one from that time I got my tongue pierced (yes, really). I had one from high school left over that I put up today, just because it was a good memory. That last one got me to thinking about my high school experience, what a really great time that was. I can’t tell you a single thing I learned, except maybe Congruent Parts of Congruent Triangles are Congruent, my standard answer for all proofs in tenth grade geometry. Oh, and that I’m “lovable and capable” as Sister Marie Thomas would make us state before she would let us leave typing (do they even call it that anymore? better question, do they even have that class anymore?).
I did learn some things, obviously, but I like revisiting the times spent with my girlfriends and the shenanigans we got up to, in and out of school. Sledding down the front lawn on cafeteria trays. Lunch at T.G.I.Friday’s on half-day Wednesdays. Eyebrow plucking in the Senior Lounge? Mrs. Skutnik and her Fallopian Tubes (that one’s an inside joke for sure).
My friend Erin would host a holiday brunch at her house during Christmas season. Sometime during the break, you’d get this note with all the details. The note would be Calvin and Hobbes from the funnies, but their regular dialogue bubbles would have been replaced with Erin’s handwriting asking if you’d heard about the brunch and if you were planning on coming (I’m sure I’ve still got one in one of my scrapbooks). We’d all pile over to her house, sit around eating, and laughing. We may have even done some Secret Santa Swap, too. I know one year, we visited a reindeer farm after stuffing ourselves with baked goods and other sweets.
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| Oh, deer! |
I remember thinking that a reindeer farm in our hometown was kind of random (we lived in suburban New Jersey), but it was the holidays, so we went with it. It also could have been from the copious amounts of Kahlua laced caked we’d eaten just a few hours before. Yes, I’ll admit it — I engaged in some underage imbibing when I was in high school. Of cousre, being the goody-two shoes that I am, I never snuck nips from the liquor cabinet or replaced vodka with water. I used it to cook with.
I would make a Kahlua Chocolate Trifle Cake every so often and bring it to school for lunch. The nuns would let me store it in the massive cafeteria fridge. During lunch, the group of us would grab our spoons and attack the mixing bowl full of chocolate cake, chocolate pudding, Cool (huh)Whip, and toffee bars. I can still hear the girls banging their spoon clenched fists on the table and chanting “Kah-lu-a! Kah-lu-a!” as I walked to the table bearing the dessert to end all desserts. I’d drop the bowl in the middle of the table and step back. You ever see that reel on Animal Planet or Discovery when the pride of lions demolishes that unassuming wildebeest? Yeah, it was kind of like that.
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| Erin’s Christmas Brunch. Note the lack of plates. |
So to complete this trip down memory lane, I leave you with the recipe for Kahlua Chocolate Trifle (and how it’s actually supposed to be presented). Although, there is something fun and deliciously naughty about eating it out of mixing bowl with a soup spoon. Happy Friday, y’all!
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Kahlua Chocolate Trifle (recipe found here)
Ingredients
1 box chocolate cake mix
1 box chocolate pudding
1 tub of cool whip, light
2 Heath bars crumbled
1 c. Kahlua
Directions
Make the cake in a 9 X 13 pan as directed on the box. After you pull it out of the oven, pierce the cake all over and pour kahlua on top and allow it to soak into the cake. (YUM)
Make the pudding as directed and let it set and cool.
After the cake has cooled, cut into 1-inch cubes. Layer half of the cake on the bottom of a trifle bowl. Layer half of the chocolate pudding on top of the cake, and half of the cool whip on top of the pudding. Top with plenty of heath bar crumbles. Repeat.
Best when served chilled, and even better the next day. Can also make individual servings.
On the way to school this morning, DJ Mo-Dizz was in the back seat calling out her all time favorite Christmas songs. Topping the list was “Carol of the Bells” (color me surprised), selections from the Nutcracker, and “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” by the Jackson Five. Not a bad little playlist she has going on there.
Not to be outdone, Co chimed in that those were her favorite songs, too, and couldn’t I please turn on the Christmas channel on the radio.
“Lite 98! Lite 98!” Morgan crowed from the backseat as I fumbled with Pandora on my phone at a stoplight.
“I know, I know,” I said, but evidently, before 8am Lite 98 is still playing selections from the Hall and Oates and Peter Cetera catalog. No Christmas music. I hit search on the XM radio, hoping to find some holiday music, but came up with “No Diggity” on the 90s channel, “I Need You Tonight” on the 80s channel, and “Jar of Hearts” on the Blend.
We were going to miss out on some holiday tunes before the girls got to school if I didn’t get it together. Going with one of my favorites, “All I Want for Christmas Is You” by Mariah Carey (the original, sans Justin(e) Beiber), I created a holiday station that got their little voices rising and falling with the chorus of “Joy to the World”, “This Christmas,” and “Santa Baby.”
With the advent of Spotify, Pandora, I Heat Radio and the rest, my iTunes Christmas playlist is practically a relic. Still, in the month of December, I like to load it up, turn it to shuffle and let it do it’s thing. If you don’t have these on your rotation, do yourself a favor and add them before you get put on the naughty list.
1. Walking in a Winter Wonderland by Peggy Lee
2. What Child is This by Vanessa Williams
3. Stay a Little Longer Santa by Shemeika Copeland
4. Santa Baby by Eartha Kitt
5. Carol of the Bells by the American Boys Choir
6. My Favorite Things by the Supremes
7. Sleigh Ride by the Ronettes
8. Baby It’s Cold Outside by Dean Martin
9. The 12 Days of Christmas by Straight No Chaser
and of course, number 10. All I Want for Christmas (Is You) by Mariah Carey. I know there’s a video of Mariah frolicking in the snow, and I know that there’s a video of Mariah and Bieber frolicking through Macy’s. The video below, though, will get your holiday spirit soaring, or maybe just your sides splitting.
I can’t wrap my head around the fact that another year has practically been pulled from under my feet. I’m feeling a little bit bah humbuggy from yesterday, but it’s starting to thaw. There’s a slight sliver of giddiness in me now that winter is here.
If you search “December” on Tumblr, We Heart It, Google, or any other image producing sight, you’re bound to find scores of pictures that include out of focus Christmas lights, snowy pastoral scenes, cherub faced babies dressed like Santa, and dogs wearing antlers. There are images of steaming mugs of cocoa, of frost covered treetops, and of towers of red-ribboned presents being carried down snow speckled streets by nothing more than a pair of hands and denim clad legs.
It’s December, and aside from the commercialized side of things, I like the images associated with the twelfth month. I like looking at pictures of other people out in the snow while I burrow deeper into my pajamas and wrap my robe a little tighter.
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I like I like slate gray skies and puff balls of breath that coil from my mouth as I skip, slip, slide from the house to the car. I like seeing Christmas lights wink and blink into the night, long after the sun has traded places with the moon. I like cookie exchanges, Angel Trees, Mitten Trees, and office holiday parties. I like baked goods and family time. I like getting Christmas cards in the mail.
I like the growing potential the new year holds as each day of December presents its best self before becoming “that day when we did that thing that was so fun”.
Oh, and I like egg nog. Mmmm, nog.
December is here and maybe in eleven days, the Mayans will have the last laugh. I hope I get your Christmas card before then.
Well, that just sucks.
I had written what was arguably the best blog post to date. I saved it, oh, did I save it. I closed the computer and when I came back to upload my pictures, guess what?
*Poof* No more post.
It’s fitting because I was going on and on about what a less than stellar week this has been.
I’m in a total “bah humbug” kind of mood. It started when we got back from Thanksgiving. The Hubs was already battling a cold and losing, impressively. He shared said cold with me (so much for my flu shot). The girls were overtired and in need of a sugar detox. By the time we were back in our own beds, Thanksgiving was in my rearview mirror and I’m all, “Wait! Was that it?”
We are fully going towards Christmas. It’s all over the place — on the TV, in the mail, on the radio, in my spam. It’s in my house, too.
We got our tree the Saturday after Thanksgiving. That’s unheard of around here. We usually get our tree like the week before. I’m start taking down the ornaments around 3:30pm Christmas Day. So the tree is up, as are the stockings and the wreath on the front door. The girls keep insisting that we trim the house with lights, set up an inflatable Santa on the front lawn, spray fake snow on the step, and get one of those Elf on a Shelf things. Elf on a Shelf? Right, because I don’t have enough to do. I got the Advent calendar up. I got the Christmas Carol Pandora Station going. I even made three separate trips to three separate Targets to find the right replacement bulbs for the fake candles I put in the front windows of the house.
Remember how I said that I didn’t really care that my pants didn’t snap after Thanksgiving. Yeah, well I lied. So I’m trying to be a more responsible eater. It’s SO hard though, because this is the season where food and drink are part and parcel of the experience. I mean, you can practically taste the butter, sugar and peppermint in the air. On those aforementioned trips to Target, I blew my hard earned cash trying to find a more waistline friendly coffee drink. Here’s a PSA: I’ve eaten brussel sprouts and cauliflower that taste better than Starbucks Skinny Peppermint Mocha Lattes and Skinny Caramel Machiattos. Either save your money or splurge on the fat content. You’ll come out ahead.
I’ve been cooking this week, but it’s been the standard fare: tacos, spaghetti, steak and potatoes. I made another batch of sausage and andouille soup because that’s good to have on hand for the nights when you’d rather re-heat than fully invest in a meat, starch, and veg.
I even went so far as to make cookies and blondies for the girls, and I didn’t even eat any. Hold your applause; I’m not too grown that I didn’t lick the bowl. And the beaters. A couple of times. Hey, it’s not like I was jamming soft, crumbly baked goods into my pie-hole.
Mmmm. . . .pie. . .
But I’m getting off track here. I’m just feeling like a big cranky, Grrrrr monster. If I had to draw a picture of it, it would be a giant scribble with fangs and red eyes. Surprisingly, it has absolutely nothing to do with my leg. I went to the doctor this week and was fully prepared for whatever he was ready to tell me. I didn’t bother to bring my matching sneaker because I knew that boot and I were going out as we came in: together. Sure enough, I’ve got another two weeks in the boot. It could be worse. It could be another two months in the boot. Of course, two weeks from today, there’s going to be a Bye-Bye Boot Bonfire in the backyard and I’ll be dancing around it holding the boot over my head like “Lord of the Flies” before I pitch it into the flames. Or, I may just unceremoniously dump it into the trash can. Either way, it’s a win.
The bottom-line is, I’m in need of some comfort.
I want to eat something warm, soft, and rich. I want to eat something so good that I close my eyes and forget my name. I want to eat something that when I bite into it, I should feel like I could crawl deep into its center, wrap myself in its goodness and take a nap. I want to eat something that tastes as good as a hug feels. It should be sweet and creamy and buttery and smooth and a little salty and have bacon and sugar and chocolate and of course, be less than 100 calories per serving. I mean, so long as I’m dreaming, right?
Where to find such a mythical creation? Why, hello, Pinterest. I’m sure you won’t fail to disappoint me.
Oh, this is so happening. . .
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Bacon Chocolate Chip Cookie with Maple Glaze from Penguins and Cupcakes
Originally from The baker chick
Makes about 2 dozen of cookies
Ingredients
2 cups plus 2 tbsp. all-purpose flour
½ tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. salt
12 tbsp. unsalted butter room temperature
1 cup brown sugar, packed
½ cup granulated sugar
1 large egg plus 1 egg yolk
2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 ½ cups semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 lb package of bacon strips- cooked until very crispy and cut into small bits.
½ tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. salt
12 tbsp. unsalted butter room temperature
1 cup brown sugar, packed
½ cup granulated sugar
1 large egg plus 1 egg yolk
2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 ½ cups semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 lb package of bacon strips- cooked until very crispy and cut into small bits.
3/4 cup powdered sugar
pure maple syrup
Directions
Adjust oven racks to upper and lower-middle positions. Preheat oven 325°. Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper.
Whisk dry ingredients together in a medium bowl; set aside. With electric mixer, mix butter and sugars until thoroughly combined. Beat in egg, yolk, and vanilla until combined. Add dry ingredients and beat at low-speed just until combined. Stir in chocolate chips and 1 cup of the bacon bits.
Roll a scant half-cup of dough into a ball. Holding dough ball in fingertips of both hands, pull apart into two equal halves. Rotate halves 90 degrees and, with jagged surfaces facing up, place formed dough onto cookie sheet, leaving ample room between each ball.
Bake, reversing position of cookie sheets halfway through baking, until cookies are light golden brown and outer edges start to harden yet centers are still soft and puffy (approximately 11-14 minutes). Do not overbake.
Cool cookies on sheets until able to lift without breaking. Transfer to a wire rack to cool.
To make glaze- in a small bowl, add 1 tablespoon of maple syrup to the powdered sugar and stir. Add more maple syrup as needed until the glaze is a good, thick drizzling consistency. Sprinkle with remaining bacon bits.