I went grocery shopping on Sunday because my cupboards resembled Old Mother Hubbard's. I thought the house was now well-stocked with food. Isaac had no school today so I left directions that he make spaghetti and meatballs for dinner to be ready by the time I return from work (after 8pm tonight so PLENTY of time).
I returned home to find Mr. Lime sitting with a bowl smeared with spaghetti sauce remnants, which was a good sign. He informed me Isaac was out with friends and that I should not expect the spaghetti to impress me. Hey, I was impressed that the boy made dinner with out me being present to coach him through it. As long as it was not a burnt offering or only half-cooked I was not going to become a food critic. I warmed up a bowl and ate his first attempt at a solo dinner.
Isaac and his pals soon returned noisily. The crew of boys immediately began to look for food. There is something both amusing and comforting in the predictability of their motivations. Isaac found the carton of kumquats I left on the table and asked his buddies if they wanted some. Yes, we had kumquats. I never had one before. Heck, I never even saw one before so when I found a small carton of them at the store I decided we'd try them. Last night I couldn't convince anyone to taste them with me and half the fun is trying something new with other people. Tonight, the three boys and I munched the kumquats and declared them weird but edible. I get a kick out of being the mom who has the "weird foods." These guys have tried all sorts of food they never had before when they've come over to visit. Venison, quinoa, kale chips, all sorts of ethnic foods, and now kumquats.
Kumquats were no match for adolescent male hunger though so they began scouting for more food immediately, not unlike sharks on the prowl. They went through a bag of corn chips and a jar of salsa in minutes and still the empty space was not filled. Then one lifted the lid on the spaghetti pot and brightened as he asked, "Can we have some?" I smiled as I handed them all bowls and forks. They each inhaled one bowlful. The first guy lifted the lid after the first round of snarfage and gave the excitedly spoken quote of the night, which made me split a gut laughing.
"Dude, it's perfect. We each can have a third of what's left and then they don't have to put any in the fridge!"
As if somehow leftovers are contrary to universal law and they'd be doing me a great favor.
I think I need to go grocery shopping again...