When Matty was in elementary school, I was really burning the candle. On Friday nights I was usually too tired to buy a vowel. So Matty and I were home at 5:30 one night and The Boy was bouncing around the living room happy and hungry and chatty because he was nine and boys his age were hungry and hyper, even after a full week of school.
So I made him MFP—Mom’s Famous Pasta. Four years running and his food rut of MFP was still going strong. A few weeks prior I made the mistake of asking him what he wanted for dinner. He closed his eyes and held up his hand like a stop sign. “Mom, haven’t we had this conversation before?” He liked mini wheels by Barilla cooked just so and then doused with olive oil and flecked with salt, pepper, oregano, basil, garlic powder and onion powder. I gave that all a good whirl and topped the whole carbfest with too many shakes of the large green canister of Parmesan cheese. So much cheese in fact that you could no longer see any speckles of pepper or oregano at all. And if I had fresh basil, I sprinkled a nice chiffonade of that over the top. He loved the taste so much that he obliterated the whole bowl every time.
He dug in and barely came up for air, other than to partake in our dinner ritual of How Was Your Day. He liked when we said it at the same time. So there was an eye lock and head nod and then in unison we sang, “Soooo, how was your day?” And we both laughed. Most weekdays he liked when I started. Weekends he led off. He would tell me about basketball at recess and the project he had to do in science class. It would involve a lot of messy ingredients, paint, and trashing the kitchen. He couldn’t wait! I talked about a deal I just closed, (my biggest so far) and the lunch meeting I suffered through. He was very proud of me and told me I was a good cooker and a good deal person. I glowed with pride that’s he was mine and tried to enjoy my salad but not as much as I enjoyed watching him scarf down MFP.
He was ready for dessert the moment his bowl was empty. So he helped me clear the few items from the table and I took out his bowl and the syrup. I scooped his chocolate Breyer’s into his favorite yellow plastic bowl that had the built-in straw attached. “Eleven seconds please!!” he hollered. I nuked his scoops for the eleven seconds he requested and brought him a spoon. He stirred the mixture around and around until he’d created a dark brown chocolate soup. He then added too much chocolate syrup. I told him he was going to throw up. He laughed; his face already partly covered in frozen spillage and mocked me telling me he hadn’t thrown up yet. “I’m convinced this could be the day,” I told him. He laughed even harder as he slurped up his chocolaty mess through the straw.
After he showered and I changed and we were relaxing on Barney, he announced that he was suddenly hungry. “You just ate! How can you possibly be hungry?” I asked him. “I know!” he said clapping. “I’m amazing that way. Aren’t you proud of me? I must be growing!”
His next round was tortilla chips spread out in one thin even layer and covered in Sargento extra sharp cheddar cheese. That got nuked for twenty-five seconds until the cheese was bubbly and then he liked several dollops of sour cream on the side. He asked to eat at the coffee table, but I denied his request. He enjoyed every cheesy bite. I cleaned up again.
About 9:30pm I was half asleep and he was watching Jimmy Neutron. He prowled across the cushions like I didn’t see him coming and put his little face right up in my face. He believed quite strongly that he could use a little snack. I could barely move. I told him that there was no lock on the refrigerator, and he could help himself to whatever he liked. He looked at his imaginary watch and said, “Mommy, I’m sorry but your shift isn’t over until ten.” I could not contain my hysterics. He took advantage of me being entertained and requested bacon and possibly some toast. I’m a sucker so I complied.
Fast-forward two weeks. We were sprawled out on Barney. It was a typical Friday night. He’d eaten dinner, dessert, and a post dessert snack. It was 10:15pm and amazingly he was hungry. So I told him that it was past 10pm! My shift was over. He tilted his head to the side and said, “Mommy, the kitchen is for employees only!” This kid had just reconfirmed that for me, being a Mom was the best job I could ever have. And thank goodness I have tenure.
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