Thursday, February 03, 2005

Lard and mother-love.

Heroine-Girl's AUCTION. Go there and bid on something. It's fun!


And go here, too! It's for the March of Dimes! My friend the Barefoot Principessa is undertaking this task to raise money to help the March of Dimes save babies.


Our Pizza Hut is seldom crowded. Tonight, I remembered why. And I remembered in time, too. So when Hub came home after school and before his ball game, I fed him some Spanish hamburger and fries. Very nutritious, if you take into account all the onions I chopped and put into the meat. Without the onions, he would have dined on lard. And starch, when you include the bun. I think sesame seeds are healthy, but there really aren't enough sprinkled on the buns to count. Have some more lard and starch, dear?

Lard was good enough for the pioneers; sometimes, they would smear some lard on a piece of bread and that was dinner. They did the same thing with bone marrow. Lucky pioneers had both at once. Little kids would fuss for a lard and marrow sandwich. Like our kids fuss for peanut butter and jelly.

Lard ain't Crisco either, folks. It isn't white and pure-looking. It's, it's, it's. . . . gritty and brownish. Light brown, but tan isn't white. And who wants a Crisco sandwich, either?

I guess if the lard was old enough, it would look like peanut butter. And I've seen bone marrow that looked kinda like jelly.

Great. I'll never want another peanut butter and jelly sandwich ever again. Which is probably not a bad thing, taking into account my slight tendency to put on weight whenever I look at glossy magazine articles featuring food.

I loved seeing both my children at lunch today. That was so simple, so 'nothing,' and so memorably wonderful.

I think that most of the BEST things in our lives, are those little simple things that we don't usually even think about all that much at the time. It's later, that we think of them that way.

Zappa lives right across the highway from Mark Pi's, and he didn't have to be at work until later this evening, so he just spooned all the leftovers into a styrofoam box and went on his way. I drove Belle back to her job; she works in the middle of the campus, and back in my day no cars were allowed there. Now, there's a parking garage attached to her building, and I drove into it, dumped her out, turned around, and went back out.

And now I am sitting here thinking about that simple lunch, in that elegant restaurant, with my beautiful grown-up children. I watched them use good manners, and I heard them thank the waitress each time she refilled their glasses or removed a plate.

Did I really have something to do with the way they acted, today? I don't honestly remember 'teaching' them how to behave. I think children learn good behavior by imitating it in the adults around them.

I've heard it said many times, that a person who is nice to you, but rude to the waiter, is NOT a nice person.

My children were respectful and polite to the server today. I watched them quietly and tried not to beam, but I don't think I succeeded. But oh well. Embarassing them is my job, right?

My beautiful children. How in the world did they get so tall? It happens gradually, with the occasional amazing spurt. They were babies. They were toddlers. They were children. They were teens. I could deal with those. And now they are adults. I can deal with that, too; but when I look at their faces, I still see my tiny little ones peering out from behind those wise and grownup eyes.

Parents, remember how when you first looked at your baby, you thought things like "There is nothing I would not do for this child?" You could actually feel electricity surging through your very being, at the very thought of your child. Well, it never changes. No matter how tall, how old, how mature, your child is your child, and there is nothing you would not do for that child.

And as I sat there in the restaurant, I could feel that same electricity, and it was still telling me that there was NOTHING I would not do for these children.

That's why I paid the bill.

Now, here comes the secret; shhhh, don't tell my kids! I was going to go the cheap route and take them to McDonald's, but I didn't have enough cash. I think the word is "broke." So I had to take them to a really nice place that took credit cards. And don't think I didn't have a moment of breath-holding till the server brought the paperwork back to the table. I wasn't sure it would go through. I couldn't pay the bill last month.
Posted by Mamacita (The REAL one) @ 7:41 PM | |


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