I recently indulged in major comfort food, by recently I mean yesterday. But the mini-adventure (and it was a tiny adventure) drew me to the many foods and circumstances that brought simultaneous tears and laughter in the past. First big one was right after I broke up with my high school sweetheart at the tail end of senior year. When I told my mom, she looked like she was about to cry. "But what about prom?" "Who cares about prom, Mom?" She's not proud of her first reaction, but made up for it when she sat me down at the kitchen counter and made me a crispy bacon and peanut butter sandwich. I kid you not, it's amazing! In college in Hawaii my sister and I hit our favorite Mexican restaurant, Peppers. In college in Washington state I discovered the power or root beer floats. When I came home from the hospital after having my first son and I was so lost I couldn't think, my mom brought over homemade bread and lasagna.
Yesterday I had to hold Will down to for two shots and a finger poke for blood. I thought if I told him in advance that he had to get a shot he would be better prepared and he wouldn't say those terrible words he had last time, "How could you, Mom?" He started hyperventilating an hour after I told him. When the time came and he was bouncing around the room ready to bolt, I did my job, but there's a cost to a person's spirit when she has to hold a child down who is trying with all his might to escape pain. The cost must have been too great to hide because the nurse rubbed my arm, not Will's. I accepted the comfort because the gesture was kind, but I wanted to clear things up for her that I was fine. Even though I wasn't.
After the appointment I drove us to the store. Found the Hershey's chocolate bars. Searched for the marshmallows only to find three sizes. I had no idea which size was better for S'mores since I'd never had them or seen anyone eat them. I chose the big ones, of course. No grill or fire at the ready, I went with the stove. This girl was going to knock an item off her dreamer list and it wasn't going to be pretty. John paced around me with white powder all over his face because he already started on his marshmallow. I waited and waited for it to get crispy over the burner on the stove. Yes, told you it wasn't going to be pretty. "What are you making, Mom?" "Not sure." "Will it be good?" "Oh yes." And it was, though I have a ways till I become a master at stove top S'mores.
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