Making Italian

Photo by Piotr Miazga on Unsplash

We just came through four months of being sick. Four months of my 5 year old bringing home every god forsaken germ he could locate at the local Kindergarten, and blowing it on us. It pains me, really, to think of the number of things he must have licked in an effort to accomplish this incredible feat. But accomplish it, he did! Like a puppy looking for love, arriving at your feet with an avian corpse. It’s not that I’m overly enthused with the number of magpies anyway, but germy gifts are not gifts of love.

So we were sick. Stomach flu, head cold, ear infection, ear infection, chest cold, ear infection, and sometimes two at once! I think we have slept once since our adventure began and never once ate a vegetable that my mother didn’t cook for us. (Is it possible we also had scurvy?) Days would blend into weeks and the crying from the baby never, ever stopped.

Lots of days I pity partied until I either read my news feed (insert:Syria), or until something else happened to knock me off the pity stick that was, like, sooo up my ass. One day I’m video conferencing my friend, S, while in a sad attempt to make it to bedtime with my sanity and manage to feed the kids. ‘Feed them what?’ I thought. I forgot we don’t even own food anymore.

Back to the pantry – got it! Kids all like ramen noodles, right? I assume. I don’t think mine had had any before. So I’m doing it, but I’m slightly embarrassed to be feeding sick kids something so totally full of msg. And I’m not crunchy! It’s just that I feel like you wait until you have fully developed livers and kidneys before you fuck with ichiban.

So I tell S what I’m doing because I know she’s good peeps and isn’t likely to judge me (but also because if I don’t offer a play-by-play of my every move, what good am I?!). She could sense my defeat, my sense of ‘doneness’ with everything. Perhaps the unwashed hair and questionable substances smeared into my shirt gave it away? As if on cue, and with no judgment or other disparaging insinuation as to my parenting she announced, as this deep fried/boiled concoction came into her view, “Look at you! You’re making Italian!”  

“Obviously”, I say. “There is no substitute for nutrition, and my children deserve the best”.

Lean on your friends, the good ones will remind you to laugh.

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