Lately, my step dad and I have been trading pictures. Chocolate pound cake, chicken and dumplins, meatloaf wrapped in bacon. He doesn’t usually write much except to tell me to say hey to the girls for him. The pictures need no descriptors, they speak for themselves.
I thought about him tonight as I scraped together something to eat. We’d gotten home a little late after a meet up with a friend I don’t see enough of these days. We’d had the power-talk, the girl-we’ve-been-friends-a-long-time-so-spill-it-because-we-only-have-an-hour-so-go kind of date. Four kids in front of a movie and talk we did. We still have 480 other things to cover but we got pretty far down the road this afternoon which meant Eliza, Lucille and I landed in our dirty kitchen hungry and on the verge of cranky.
As I carried backpacks, my computer, coats, at least one pair of shoes, yesterdays ballet outfit and disemboweled lunches boxes through the door, our starving 80 pound lab nearly tripped me because she couldn’t wait to go stand beside her food bowl. I let fall all of the crap I was carrying and asked Eliza to feed the dogs while I put on my favorite pair of jeans. Hole in the knee, hole in ass. You know the ones. Back downstairs I rummaged in the fridge.
Tacos! I quickly browned hamburger meat while refereeing the nightly sister throw down that is inevitable these days and began digging for tortillas.
Corn? Nope. Flour. Nope. Hard or soft shell? Nope.
Chips! We’ll have nachos. Plan B. I’m rolling with it. I’m flexible.
No chips. Dude. <Read More>