When Brian goes out of town, it means different things to different people. For me, it means comfort food from my childhood. (For whatever reason, Brian is convinced that – since I was raised in Oklahoma – I grew up “on a farm” when, in fact, I grew up in a town of ~30,000 people.) If I make certain foods for dinner – fried pork chops with rice and gravy, vegetable stew, fried okra, ham and beans – he comments, “Oh, are we back on the farm?” or “Looks like we’re revisiting your Mommy’s childhood tonight.” Then, he promptly orders himself take out. (For the record, I am a fabulous cook. The man is insane.)
For the kids, Brian being out of town means McDonald’s for dinner and crashing in Mommy’s bed, flopping around, stealing the covers, and kicking me in the back all night.
The McDonald’s thing flummoxes me. I don’t know how this started. I don’t know how I didn’t quickly crush it. I don’t know how it blossomed into this ritual that I have no control over.
As soon as they hear “Daddy’s out of town” or they ask “Is Daddy out of town” and I answer “Yes,” they light up and yell “McDONALD’S”. This is followed by marching around in a circle, pumping their fists, and chanting “We want Happy Mails! We want Happy Mails!” I don’t know if I should be proud that they can rally each other into an effective demonstration, or terrified.
Lola used to lead this group of terrorists, but she has recently turned – darkly – on McDonald’s. I don’t know where this came from – someone at school mocking McDonald’s, perhaps? A little 7-year old girl giving her the side eye? “OMG, Lola, only BABIES eat Happy Meals. I prefer spring rolls and pho with extra tofu.” Maybe she watched a documentary on YouTube Kids lamenting the health concerns of eating a diet consisting only of McDonald’s? No idea.
Anyway, as the other three march away shouting their mantra, she interjects with a determined, “I DON’T want McDonald’s! It’s DISGUSTING!!” I quietly agree and my soul soars with pride.
“I want Sonic.”
My soul slumps back into itself.
“Okay, well, let Mommy get my dinner started, and we’ll go.” I start my mom’s Vegetable Stew (HEAVEN!), bring everything to a simmer on the stove, and then we head out for McDonald’s AND Sonic.
First, and this happens every time, I’m surprised at how crowded the two drive thru lanes at McDonald’s are. (I mean, c’mon, this isn’t Chick-fil-A, people). By the time we roll up to the drive thru window to collect our three happy mails with “ice cold Coca-Cola” (Rowan’s nomenclature), I’ve threatened to “abandon the happy mails and go home” about 15 times. Shrieks of “Malone just kicked me!!!”, “LOLA! Mommy, LOLA pinched me!!”, Lola yelling, “NO, I DIDN’T. YOU’RE A TATTLE TELLER!”, ring out from the back of the van. Inevitably, someone has thrown their headphones at someone else and clocked me in the head, instead. My right eye is twitching sporadically.
Of course, there’s a shortage of french fries. Of course, I can pull into one of the well lit parking spots to wait for our happy mails. Of course. I’ve already paid.
We park. I swear to God, it’s another 10 minutes before the damn fries are ready. My blood pressure is teetering on level “dangerous”. The kids are fighting, I have a knot in my right shoulder that’s getting tighter by the minute, and, since the kids insist on rolling the windows up and down, up and down, up and down, I’m trying to keep my voice in check and not get CPS called on me. “Would. You. Please. Stop. Antagonizing. Your. Sister.” …. “Do. Not. Call. Me. Stupid. Would you like it if I called you stupid?” …. “No. You are not stupid. You are all VERY smart.” Someone throws their shoe at me. “That was stupid.”
At some point, I make a tragic mistake. I say, “Good lord, this is taking FOREVER. I left the stove on. If it takes much longer, our house is going to burn down.”
Oh. My. God. What have I done. The wailing from four distinct voices in the back hits a fever pitch. “GO HOME!!! GO HOME!!! GO TURN THE STOVE OFF!!!” I calmly explain that the house won’t burn down, I was just being dramatic. Lola cries, “OUR HOUSE IS GOING TO BURN DOWN!!! WE WON’T HAVE A HOME!!! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!!!” to general, wailing agreement by her siblings.
I explain that I am NOT going home to turn the stove off only to turn around and go BACK to Sonic for her grilled cheese sandwich. If she wants to go home, there will be no grilled cheese sandwich.
She makes it clear that this is not an option.
Mr. Grumpy teenager lopes out with our stupid happy mails. He mutters something that might be “sorry”, but I can’t be sure.
I turn to go down to Main Street for the ah-mazing Sonic grilled cheese sandwich to which nothing else compares. (According to Lola).
Now, if you live in Frisco, you know Main Street is the-neverending-story-of- construction. I saw the backed up left-turn lane and decided to stay straight and pull a left turn into a parking lot that eventually zig-zags to Sonic. Only thing is, the oncoming traffic doesn’t stop…oncoming. Like, there’s never a break. And there is one car in front of me attempting to do the same thing.
I sit there for what feels like 10 minutes, but is probably closer to 3, and I am cursing under my breath, muttering things like “Grow a pair! You could’ve made that!!”, and shaking slightly. (Remember, there are 4 frantic kids yelling at me from the back of the van because they are CONVINCED our house is burning down at this exact moment.) I catch myself looking in the general direction of our home to make sure I can’t see smoke. I finally whip out, turn right into a gas station parking lot, and exit right onto main. Where I hit the LONGEST RED LIGHT IN THE HISTORY OF ALL TIME. I bang my head on the steering wheel a few times before catching the eye of the concerned passenger in the next car. I upwards chin nod at them, a subtle “how’s it goin’?”
When we arrive at the Sonic, I swing into a spot and ask, curtly – fries or tater tots (tots), apple juice or lemonade (lemonade). And then, and only then, does the whining begin from all 4 children in the back – “Oh, oh, oh, can we get a TREAT??” Me, beside myself – “WHAT?? NO!! OUR HOUSE IS BURING DOWN, REMEMBER?!?”
You would’ve thought the world was ending. These kids were being DEPRIVED!! What do you mean, no chocolate milkshakes or blue slushies with a sprinkle of nerds? Don’t I love them? Don’t I care about their well-being? I am, apparently, the “Worst Mom EVER!”
I am a bit unorthodox with my comeback. “Oh, really? Do you go hungry every day? No? Do you get beaten?! No?! Do you get locked in a dungeon without water?!? No?!? Oh, well, then you might want to rethink that…”
Rowan cries out, “Raise your hand if you hate Mommy!” Four hands go up in the air.
I order the grilled cheese sandwich, tots, and lemonade. I also order 2 stupid blue slushies with a sprinkle of nerds and 2 stupid chocolate milkshakes. (These kids are geniuses).
We drive home. Our house has not burned down, which I point out upon our approach.
We wave at our neighbor, Nick, who is drinking beer in his garage. Nick has one kid. I’m convinced Nick is brilliant.
My vegetable stew is ready. I get the kids settled with their food/drinks. They scarf it down so they can get to their treats.
I get myself a bowl of stew. Lola brings her blue slushie with nerds into the living room and sets it on the coffee table. I warn her to be careful. She assures me she will be. Two seconds later, she spills the first half of her blue, nerdy slushie. All over the coffee table and dripping down the side onto the hardwood floors.
I jump up, grab the cup, salvaging the second half of blue slushie. I go for paper towels and windex to wipe up the mess, my stew abandoned.
I clean up.
I’m putting away the cleaning supplies when Harlowe jumps on a chair next to the coffee table, bumps the remaining cup-with-blue-slushie, and it goes all over my just-cleaned-up-two-seconds-ago-floor-and-coffee-table. She says something like “oops.”
Lola shrieks that Harlowe has “RUINED HER LIFE!!!”
The edges of the world blur and spin for a moment.
My head may or may not have turned completely around on my neck, exorcist-style. My demon-voice, which I summon only for special occasions, rang out in an ominous green cloud that hovered over our living room, conjuring an ancient language that no one understands but that invokes an irrepressible terror.
The kids withdraw. I sit and breathe in and out. In and out.
I clean up blue slushie. For the second time.
I reheat my stew.
Thank God for comfort food.
MOM’S VEGETABLE STEW:
*Use a big pot.
12-16 oz. stew meat. Get some with a little marble in it for flavor.
2- 32-oz. pkgs. beef broth in waxed boxes.
3- large peeled and cut potatoes (about 1/2″ to 1″ chunks)
6-8 large peeled carrots, cut into slices
1-2 cans diced tomatoes, with juice.
1 small chopped onion. (Jamie purees the crap out of the onion so it’s mostly a liquid. She has an aversion to biting into onion bits).
Directions:
Pour vegetable oil to cover bottom of pot. Cut meat into about 1″ chunks and brown in pan on low to medium heat. Stir often. Add more oil if needed.
After meat is lightly browned all over, add water to cover it all. Simmer until done, about 15 minutes. Can add more water if needed.
Pour both pkgs. of broth into the water. Add onion and tomatoes with juice. Add potatoes and carrot.
Cook over low to medium heat. Do not bring to a boil. Simmer until potatoes are done; use the fork test to make sure. (Poke a fork in the potato to make sure it’s cooked through and soft).
Salt and pepper to taste.
Eat with crackers and mustard. Sounds weird, but put meat on a cracker and put a little mustard on it, Korthase style. It’s lovely.
Enjoy!