Last evening, the hubs had an event post-work. The Oldest has been away at camp all week {yes. It’s Terrifying. Yes. I might need to hold him in my lap all next week and have him call me “mommy” until he’s 27. Normal adjustments, right? Right.}. And so I decided to make the two remaining children the meal they’d been requesting all week: macaroni and cheese without cheese.
First, let me explain: they think you can only get macaroni noodles in a box of mac and cheese mix. And they also think they are the first people to EVER come up with the concept of just noodles {even though I’ve relayed that reality several tens of times}. So I purchased some Elbow Noodles for $.78 and prepared to blow their minds.
And. Last night, just noodles were on the menu board {not literally. My shit is not that together.} and the boys were thrilled.
To accompany said gourmet fare, I whipped up some of the fanciest and finest of all pre-cooked meats stuffed into casings and labeled, “Johnsonville” and a side of fruit. Now normally, I would just do one fruit. A singular offering. But I was feeling festive so I chopped up a menagerie of beautiful bounty… bing cherries. Strawberries. Bananas. And peaches. I filled cups with milk and rang the dinner bell {aka screamed four times to get them to come see my masterpiece}.
I have to say, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself, a meal with everything they like. A meal that will be blissful. A meal where they will praise me and laud my cooking prowess. A meal that we can all choke down without choking.
Sccccccrrrrrrreeeeeeeeech. The record needle of all my delusions came to a hault. And I was summoned from my daisy trampling dreams…
“Mom. Mom. Where are the grapes?”
“Wha?”
“The grapes. Didn’t we talk about having grapes?” The Middlest asked.
“Ya. Gwapes! Me want gwapes.” The baby echoed.
Wtf. DID we talk about grapes? Wait. Who cares? I have made this meal for them. Not for me. And now they want GRAPES?!
“Ummm. We did not talk about grapes. I said fruit. Do you not see the amazing fruit mixture? Cherries. CUT UP CHERRIES. PITS REMOVED. Bananas. Strawberries. Peaches. Fresh peaches from a freaking farm stand.” I replied. Through a clenched jaw.
“Yeah. But I was expecting grapes.”
…
Now. This fable proves two things.
One: that my kid can be an entitled jerk. Yes. I see that. And no. I did not go get him grapes. Or them, as it were. {and yes. They ate the fruit salad. And the noodles sans cheese. And we all had a grand time. After the grape complaining ended.} They were forced to eat the other fresh fruit I’d supplied them with.
Two: sometimes… no matter what you do, if it wasn’t what someone was expecting, they are always gonna think about the grapes.
Right?
I mean… I think as adults we have grape dreams a lot. When we get married. When we take a job. When we have kids. When we go to get a soda at the gas station with crushed ice and they don’t have crushed ice {I mean. Get with the program.}. We have grape moments.
Moments where we look at everything we have but we can only see what isn’t there… the things that we perceive to be missing. We have our moments where we expect our children or spouse to behave a certain way towards us or to do certain things for us — even though we didn’t communicate that with them. We just expect them to know that we want grapes. We have those moments at our jobs where we think we’ve been doing all the right things. Making the big fruit salad. BUT. The boss wanted grapes.
And for me, as a woman and a mom… I find that I sometimes I just need time to adjust to fruit salad and then, it is all good. Then I can see that while grapes would have been fine, so are other ways around the barn.
…
So first, I think we need to make sure our kids know that when they are ungrateful little haters, we don’t like it. And that it’s not appropriate. And that mommy isn’t a short order cook even though she’s made a habit of being one because sometimes she’s just tired and it’s easier to give in… sorrrry. I digress.
And second, I think we need to communicate with people in life to make sure we are asking for grapes if we want the freaking grapes. Name your dreams if you want to reach them. Ask for changes if you are expecting them. Know that if you don’t get the grape and you did ask, you might just not have deserved the grapes or it wasn’t your time for the grapes. Or your mom didn’t want to do grapes. And once you get the grapes, be grateful that you did. Because gosh. You could just be stuck with noodles without cheese and fruit freaking salad. And where would we all be then?
Oh. And should you find yourself with the fruit salad of life… the unexpected moments, outcomes, challenges, or mountains… why not just get a spoon and eat that shit up. Maybe it’s just what you never knew you were really wanting. And wouldn’t that be the greatest life lesson of all?
Likely.
