This morning I was due to be at my parents’ house at 11 for a pre-lunch kid swim on our Pre-Father’s Day Lunchabration. (You know you wish you’d thought of that word. Patent pending. Step off.) I was responsible for a cherry pie and Todd’s Rockabilly Texas Slaw. I hate cole slaw. I LOVE this stuff. I knew I had to get up and get going this morning to make sure the pie was done ahead of time.
Beloved loves to help. Always. As you know if you are a parent, a nanny, an aunt, a grandma, or a person with a strong pulse, a child’s help isn’t always super-duper helpful. Often it adds a 1/2 hour to the task and means cleaning up a can of beans off the floor (hypothetical example here, as there are no beans in my cherry pie recipe). This morning, though, I woke up in a dandy mood and decided to EMBRACE the help. Invite the help. I was surprised how nice it was to have her helping with just a wee attitude change on my part. I need to embrace this now, because I think she’s smart enough to be making the pie on her own in about 6 months and how great would that be?
Anyway, once we got the pie in the oven, I continued with my 1000 other tasks to ready one child for summer camp and other children for just…you know…the day and stuff.
And the pie cooked. And cooked.
And soon the house began to smell really good. You thought I was going the “house on fire” direction with that, didn’t you? Not this time.
Mama’s Boy, who loves to eat, started to notice the smells and ask for pie crust. He loves the days when there’s leftover pie crust that we slather in butter and cinnamon and bake for him to munch on. Today there was nothing leftover. He was bummed. But once he got over his initial disappointment, he just announced with glee, “I’ll just eat the pie at Grandmama’s house.” And that was that.
We went. They swam. We lunchabrated. And then it was time to go.
So we left.
And at 4:30 this afternoon, Mama’s Boy stopped dead in his tracks and said, “What happened to the pie?”
What do you mean, what happened to the pie, boy?
“I mean what happened to it? I was supposed to eat it.”
“Well, it was there, right with all the other desserts. I thought you changed your mind,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Nobody offered me pie,” he woefully concluded.
And then, after he had fallen asleep, I read his journal (he has authorized this, just so you don’t think I’m a total weasel). This is what it said:
Today we went swimming. I had a great time, but I forgot about the pie. But anyways, it rocked. We came home and watched Karate Kid.”
I hate it when I swim and forget about the pie. It happens. Happy Father’s Day to every cool dad out there. Mine is better than yours, but don’t feel bad. Yours is okay, too. 🙂