Friday, February 10, 2012

I Like It Piping Cold...

", this tastes like ice. Just the way I like it."
Afternoon Readers,

     I just finished experiencing something I haven't in a great while; the chicken soup I just drank out of a questionable-looking Tupperware bowl was hot....I mean really, really pepper flakes...eyes melted from sockets hot. I believe it's been almost two years since I've had an honest-to-goodness warm meal, which happens to coincide with the birth of the twins. Coincidence? Fate? Chubby fingers waiving for more chicken nuggets and canned corn?...Something is indeed frozen in the state of Denmark.

     I always come at dinner with the best of intentions. I dawn my apron, high heels, perky attitude and decide that this night will be the night we all sit down and have dinner, together. The twins are served just as Husband gets home, and, after I've handed him his plate, all looks right with the world. I go to sit down...


     I smile. "Yes, dearest?"

     "Would you be so kind as to grab me a Coke?"

     "I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing. Be right back."

     A quick scan confirms the babies are already half-way through their food. Husband has just started, my food is sitting on the table losing steam. I go and return.

     "Thanks, Hon."

     At this point, I realize the time it took to make it to the refrigertor gifted the twins time to get three-fourths of the way through their meal. I sit down quickly and assess whether I can live off half the noodles, a bite of salad, or if drinking the salad dressing will suffice as a meal. Didn't I see five different vegetables on the bottle?

Risking it, I shove a fork-full of fetucinni in my mouth. The coolness of the sauce also cools my will to live.


     "Yes, my love?"

     "I done."

     "Are you sure?"

     "I done."

     "OK, let me grab a washcloth and I'll be right there."

     "I done now."

     Longingly, I lay my head on the soggy bed of lettuce and give it a final farewell rub with my forehead. I trot to the kitchen, grab the washcloth and clean everyone up. Husband has finished and returned his dishes to the kitchen. I am reminded...


     "Right. I forgot your desert. OK, have a cookie, while I go finish dinner." Grabbing my plate, I look at the cold, squishy monster from outer space that used to be my dinner. Bracing myself, I lift a pile of icy food to my mouth.



     "Story? Read? Mama?"

     I set down my fork, return my plate to the kitchen and sit down on the couch. "Yes babies, I'll read you a story. Have you heard the one about the mother who loved her children so much she starved to death? It's a riot."

Feel free to share any similar experiences. I may need to start a support group...

Until Next Time, Readers!