Unexpected Entrées
Dreamt I was drowning. Three times. Not sure what that implies, exactly – probably something mystically ridiculous – but it’s not a fair feeling unconsciously holding your breath under fictitious ocean and then gasping for air in the middle of the night.
It was nine o’clock and I still hadn’t opened the fish bowl. Once those white “Caribbean” curtains have been split, the day must start. And I still wasn’t completely ready, not even after donning my warm black house sweater and downing a staple hard-boiled egg. Maybe especially when Puck’s first question – every. single. day. – goes something like this…
“Where are we going today, Mom?”
“I don’t… know…”
“And what about the next day?… And the day after that?… And the day after that?… And the day after that?”
We have now made it an understanding that he just needs to sit back and enjoy the ride without knowing the details. Wonder where he gets that impulse from?…
When it’s gray, windy, and under 50 degrees, the best way to entertain a kid while his dad is busy cranking out the study machine, is at the park. On a hill which might as well = wind tunnel. About twenty minutes in, Puck saw another car, surprisingly, join us. As a small girl not quite two popped out of the door, Puck turned back to me in glee…
“I got a kid!”
When we returned an hour later, Puck was starved. As usual. Keeping with tradition of preferring foods that are not lasagna, he headed off the potential protest early with…
“Thanks for not letting me have lasagna, Mom!”
There are only so many parsed participles a man can stuff into his brain in one full day, although I was proud of him for giving it seven solid hours. We needed a diversion. I guess the easiest way to take care of that one was by way of a little trip out of the neighborhood to scare up some fun. It doesn’t take a lot of effort, granted. Especially when Gloria phones in requesting Puck to join a play hour with three kids from church and then a spend-the-night. Bingo. Immediately, Puck jumped from the car and joined the oldest boy, whose parents hail from South Africa, in boyish exploits of imagination.
This also meant a surprise table waiting for us at Outback Steakhouse. About two pounds of cheesy fries topped with bacon. Lobster, steak, and potato for the man. Chicken, cheese, and bacon quesadilla for the lady. And of course the standard pumpernickel loaf with creamed butter. Oh, and a box of peanut butter pie and garnish of whipped cream, fudge sauce, and chocolate bits to take home. This was my version of Thanksgiving dinner. [Without the turkey, dressing, and cranberry sauce. Yuck.]
We finished off the evening with a random viewing of “Extreme Couponing” on The Bear’s laptop. It made me laugh. Granted, maybe I won’t be laughing when we have a six-day blizzard this January and I run out of paper towels and Texas toast. But I mean, really… Who’s going to eat 62 bottles of mustard before they expire? Even if it does take years to putrefy, I’m still never going to get through 62 bottles of mustard in my lifetime.