When the now-10-year-old turns 13 and starts screaming that I never loved her, never supported her, never understood her, I’m going to pull the last 24 hours out of my memory bank and parade them before her.
She had a concert last night, her first since taking up the viola. Ahh, string instruments. I strongly encouraged the bells or the drums, but of course she wouldn’t be swayed. So last night, my family and I sat through a remarkable hour listening to rousing numbers like “Boil the Cabbage” and “Scotland’s Burning”. Wow. Nothing finer than 86 kids playing a concert with instruments they picked up for the first time 2 months ago.
Nothing finer, that is, unless it’s the Holiday Meal I had the opportunity to share with the same daughter today. Her school puts on one of these lunches every year, and so far I’ve been wily enough to convince my children that they would much rather sit with me in the car eating Sonic or Einstein Brothers. But this time, the oldest thought about what I really wanted and chose the very most opposite thing. So I paid way too much money for pressed turkey, cold canned yams, whipped potato-like substance, green salad made 3 months ago and bagged for convenience… You get the picture. The whole reason I left elementary school (well, that and the too-old-to-be-here thing) was to get away from the smell of the cafeteria. Oh, and to top it all off, my oldest sat in the middle of a gaggle of girls while I sat next to Ben. Ben is my new best friend. We sat by ourselves and discussed whether mushrooms have a flavor. I say yes, but Ben said his Grandma comes down firmly on the ‘no’ side. Ben likes me because I gave him the whipped cream from my florescent orange pie they called “pumpkin”.
My sister sat in the car and waited with the baby while I “ate” with my oldest child. Hal says she got the best end of that deal.