Good morning Everyone!
Last Friday was the last day of school for 2015 for Kayla. The day before, her home room decided to plan a breakfast party in celebration thereof. So far so good, but then my child (or perhaps this time she was Mark’s child!) volunteered to bring cheese grits for the class.
When she announced this to us, neither parent was thrilled. Mark, because he had to go to Wal-Mart with her to get bags of grit after work and me because I was informed that I would be getting up to help her prepare them. This announcement was doubly troubling to me since I had sworn off making her grits ages ago, since every batch I made was judged inferior to any batch made by either grandmother. (See, Grits.)
Mark hates Wal-Mart and only goes there as a last resort, but by the time I got home that night, the two of them had already been and returned – with two five-pound flour bag size packages of grits. I think he got off light.
When I awoke the next morning, Kayla already had plopped three stock size pots on the stove and filled with them water. She was standing in the kitchen waiting for them to boil.
Unreasonable woman that I am, I studied the directions on the back of the package, and asked, “Did you measure out the water?”
“No, I don’t have to.”
“But the package says…”
“Well, Grandma Pat never does…”
(At this point I started gritting my teeth.)
The water in pot one started to boil, and Kayla added about three pounds worth of grits into the pot.
My next question: “Do you have the cheese ready to stir in?”
Disdainfully: “Mom, you never stir the cheese in; you just put it on top.”
“It’s better stirred in.”
Aggravated sigh. “Even Cracker Barrel and Huddle House just put the cheese on the top.”
(At this point I started biting my tongue and walked off into the other room. With a decided lack of wisdom, I decided to reenter the kitchen.)
Studying the huge batch of grits stirring in pot #1, I suggested that pot 1 was all she would need.
“Mom, I have to prepare for 32 people.”
“Kayla, that’s enough for 32 people.”
“No it’s not.”
(By now, I’m ready to start snarling, so I jump to the true root of the problem.)
“You know, when you’re volunteering to bring something to the party at the last minute, you should volunteer to bring something we can just buy at the store.”
“I was going to bring plates Mom, but when people were saying what food they were going to bring, I kept asking for cheese grits and no one would bring them, so I did.”
The child then emptied another two pounds of grits into pot #2 and began stirring.
“Kayla, you have enough grits. You don’t need the third batch.”
“Yes I do.”
“No, you have enough.”
“But mom…”
Then a shout came out. “I don’t care what you say, I am now ORDERING you to not make the third batch.”
“Well, there’s no need to yell at me!”
I again left the room, this time to allow my blood pressure to come down. After too short a period, I am called back in.
“Mom, did Grandma Pat teach me how to make good grits or what?”
(Note: I don’t like grits; never have, never will.)
She then announced “You know I’m going to need you to help me carry this stuff in.”
I studied the kitchen counter, where a large assortment of very small Tupperware containers were spread out. “Honey, you can’t take all my Tupperware containers.”
With a huff: “Well, I have to take them in SOMETHING!”
After a moment’s thought, I found a very large stew pot that she could pour both batches in. Now all she had to carry was her backpack, slung over her shoulder and the stew pot, which had handles and a lid. She informed me I still needed to go in with her (which involves parking the car in the school parking lot and walking into the school) rather than just take her through the car rider line (which means I get to stay in the car while she gets on out.) A snarling cross-examination established that the only reason I needed to go in was that she was embarrassed to carry in her large pot of grits by herself, which really set me off.
At the end of the appointed time, I managed to get the daughter and the grits to the right place at the right time. My parting words to her as I walked from the school back out to the parking lot included a reminder to clean the kitchen as soon as she got home that day.
For the record, there still is at least one pot that has not yet been cleaned to my satisfaction. It took all day Friday for my Christmas cheer to return!
Have a great day!
Nancy
Tales from the Mom-Side 