I was thrilled when The Naptime Chef invited me to her virtual dinner party to celebrate the launch of a cookbook she worked on called, Park Avenue Potluck Celebrations. And not just because it was a virtual dinner party, which meant I could enjoy all the thrills of planning, with none of the anxieties of showing up. She’d asked me to “bring” Swedish Apple Cider Punch, which I knew our 2 y.o. would love. You see, his biggest fear in life is that we think he is little. In fact, he takes our use of that word as a slight. If we say, “We got a little snow today,” he’ll furrow his brow and remind us, “I’m a big boy! I’m growing up to be a man.” And what would make him feel more grown up than sipping a hot beverage in a mug next to dad?

I have to admit we’ve fed this insecurity of his. Because, with him, it’s the only tool we’ve got. Our 4 y.o. is rule bound; our 2 y.o. really doesn’t care what we say. But hint his actions are what a baby would do and he’ll immediately correct himself.

Yesterday, our 4 y.o. grabbed the superhero umbrella before our 2 y.o. could get to it. “I want that one!” our 2 y.o. hollered because he was left with our fat black one the wind turned inside out.

“Actually, you have the big boy umbrella,” our 4 y.o. said. “It’s the biggest umbrella we have. This is a little boy umbrella. Do you want a little boy umbrella?” Sigh. It’s hard to be annoyed when your 4 y.o. learned how to exploit the 2 y.o.’s insecurities from you.

Ebba’s Swedish Apple Cider Punch, from Park Avenue Potluck Celebrations:

Makes 12 servings

6 cups fresh nonalcoholic apple cider
2 cups cranberry juice
1/2 cup dark brown sugar
12 whole cloves
2 cinnamon sticks
1/2 teaspoon grated nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
2 oranges, thinly sliced
1 lemon, thinly sliced

Our 2 y.o. dumped all of the ingredients, except for the oranges and lemon, in a large pot on our counter.  I don’t quite trust him near our stove yet.  Maybe it’s because he stuck buttered bread in our toaster.

Oh, no. She caught me.

When he finished mixing and tasting, I put the pot on the stove over medium heat and brought the cider to a simmer.  Our home filled with autumnal scents of cinnamon and nutmeg. While waiting for the sugar in the cider to dissolve, I washed the fruit.

Then, I strained the cider and put the sliced oranges and lemons in it.

I poured cider for our boys, and our 2 y.o. sidled up to dad to drink it.  He finished one cup then asked for another. Our now 10 m.o. pulled up on his chair. “No baby,” he said haughtily. “You’re too little to have any.”

When our home settled, all three kids snoozing in their beds, Matt and I turned on some jazz and spiked our warm cider with Vodka. The cranberry juice had given it a delightful tangy kick, while the brown sugar made it rich and thick.

Ah, the perfect way to end the evening. (Matt drank two glasses of it; he adored its spiciness, as well as how rich its sweet-tangy flavors were.)

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