Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Gag Me With a Spoon!
I've got my bitchypants on this morning.
Hang on, it's going to be a bumpy ride.
Sunday night, little guy complained of having a sore throat.
He has sensory integration issues, so usually when it gets to the point where he says he's sick, it means he's really really sick.
Number One son woke up Monday morning, and he was ill as well. I called the doctor.
I'm amazed that nowadays in a doctor's office you can get a strep swab and have the results in 15 minutes. Even a short few years ago, we'd have to wait for a couple of days for lab results.
Yes. They have strep. Happy summer vacation!
Our nephew, who is visiting, was fine the last time I checked. I locked him in a closet to keep him away from contagion and have been slipping him peanut butter sandwiches under the door.
Just in case someone from Child Protective Services is reading this---I'm kidding. Really, I am!
So last evening I decided to make comfort food. The guys didn't feel sick enough to require soup, they wanted something more substantial. Chicken wings and macaroni and cheese. Okey doke.
I got the expensive stuff with the creamy sauce. Nothing is too good for my sick guys.
Hubby came in from work and saw me flopped on the couch.
Can I help? Did I ever mention I was married to a fabulous man?
"Would you drain the macaroni and put the sauce together? And pull the wings out of the oven?"
We fed the sick guys first, because frankly, none of us wanted to sit with them and it would be rude to spray disinfectant in their faces while they were eating.
Number One took a bite. And pushed his plate away. There's something wrong with the macaroni and cheese. Did Mom buy that generic stuff again?
Believe it or not, there are macaroni and cheese snobs. He lives in my house. It's Kraft (the Cheesiest!) or nothing.
No, she bought the expensive stuff for once, said Hubby. You're just used to the day-glo kind.
The little guy cleaned his plate, but didn't ask for another helping on the mac, which is amazingly out of character. Usually he'll check the level in the pot over and over to make sure there's enough for seconds. Boy, he must feel terrible!
I went in the kitchen and looked at it. It looked ok.
I got a spoon and tasted it. WTF?
Hubby came in the kitchen.
"Did you taste this?" I asked. "It's revolting! It tastes like feet! It's even...garlicky!"
He looked sheepish.
"Don't tell me. You put GARLIC in the macaroni and cheese? What in the hell is wrong with you?"
He got a little indignant. But I always put garlic in!
Since when? I would have remembered macaroni and feet! And while we're at it---if you're going to screw it up, why not add some salt and pepper to even it out? Why just...garlic?
I thought back. I can't remember the last time Hubby actually made macaroni and cheese. I've seen him obliviously trip over the boys while they were on their knees begging him not to put garlic in their mashed potatoes, but macaroni and cheese?
What kind of person desecrates the sanctity of comfort food?
When I let the nephew out of the closet to eat, he ate the mac and cheese. Even asked for seconds. Raved about it loudly. A little too loudly, if you get my drift.
Which has led me to a couple of conjectures.
The nephew is eternally grateful to eat something that doesn't have salsa in it (he lives at Grandma's house, and she puts salsa on everything).
Or that really was five bucks I thought I saw hubby slip to the kid when he thought I wasn't looking...and we already know that he'll eat anything for money.
Hope everyone has a happy and healthy day!