Reflections on Life while Sitting in Soiled Diapers

I saw a posting tonight from an online friend.  She was boasting of an accomplishment of one of her children.

Now this is not one of those helicopter parents that thinks we should all stop our world because their kid made baby poo in a diaper.  News flash for those parents:  I crapped my diapers for decades before you even thought about throwing into the gene pool.  Well, maybe I have not been crapping my diapers for decades.  Been a few years since I have had that pleasure.  Wait.  Let’s move along from the pleasures of diaper crapping before I start in on the classic Depends .v. Tena debate.

Anyway, I have decided to call her “this lady”.

It seems her 10 year old cooked dinner for the family.  Not a PB and J sammie.  A hot meal.  Something that I don’t cook so it must be that she is married to a yankee or something.  Maybe a Brit with their Yorkshire greasy baked pancakes.

Most of my favorite memories and traditions involve food.  A product of a southern rearing.  Paula Dean and Natalie Dupree are saints in southern Catholic churches.  We enjoy talking about food almost as much as eating it.  Recipe books are our porn addiction.

Southern food fights are nothing like the food fights in movies.  We fight over whose mama makes the best dressing.  Not “stuffing”.  Dressing.  Stuffing is something that comes out of a box.  Yankees think you put it inside poultry.  You will find an occasional southern cook that will fill the cavity of a bird, but even they admit its to season the bird.  The fox hounds get that dressing.  Everyone knows people never eat dressing cooked inside a bird.

That is not to say all southerners know how to make dressing.  The first screwup they make is getting too much white bread.  That makes paste.  And PLEASE use stale white bread.  Not day old bread.  We are talking zwieback/melba toast stale bread.  And watch the sugar content in the cornbread, wouldya.  We are going for savory.  Not some Brit crap.

The stock is important.  But stock is a whole nuther discussion.  So let’s diss on mamas that use boiled eggs in their dressing.  That’s just gross.  Boiled eggs in dressing cause children to be bed wetters and other childhood traumas.

Don’t go crazy on the sage and poultry seasonings.  That is important.  But the biggest mistake is baking the dressing.  I know your mama did that.  The harsh reality is that baked dressing is just wrong.  Cook it on top of the range in a heavy dutch oven like civilized people.

If you really like the flavor of oysters, add some of the liquor.  Just be sure to filter out the sand.  No one likes gritty dressing and no one likes rubbery oysters.  Its all good to chop them up so the kids won’t know what they are.  But by all that’s Holy, do not add them until just before serving the dressing.

I’m not sure how “this lady” does her dressing.  Probably the wrong way.  But I know this.  Her children will fight to their last breath to defend their mother’s dressing.  A mother that teaches her children to cook always has the love of her children and they will not tolerate anyone talking smack about her dressing.  Since they are only 10 years old as of this writing, I feel sure I can hold my own should they attack.

As psychoses go, I think food obsessions are on the low end of the scale.  I prefer to be food obsessed over say gambling or meth addicted.  Only problem is that the human animal can live without ever visiting a craps table or even a crack pipe.  With the food obsessed, we have the challenge of controlling our addiction.  Not walking away from it.  We can live without a bottle of vodka.  We gotta eat.

Food is not just sustenance, its a source of pleasure.  Except if its baked dressing or some wacko Brit food.  Cooks like providing the fuel for our bodies as well as the pleasure we get from eating it.  That is all well and good.  But anyone can buy a Marie Callendar’s pot pie.  The chicken parmesan is awfully good.  Buying a pot pie is one thing but making a pot pie is a gift of your time.  That means a lot to me.  Unless its baked dressing.  Baked dressing might be time consuming but its an automatic 10 demerits.

“This lady” could have cooked the food herself.  Instead, she has taken the time with her children to teach them how to cook.  A skill they could survive without but a skill that will serve them well in life.  They will be able to take a casserole to a sick friend, a friend grieving loss and a friend celebrating.  They will also know that when a friend brings them a casserole, they have a true friend.

I don’t know a lot about “this lady”.  I admire her, not stalk her.  From my few interactions online with her I think I know her well.  She is a medical professional that has chosen to quit working and home school her children.  That tells us about her husband as well.  A two income family might have more toys but toys are not what is valued with them.

And zo muh Gawd.  Who would dare home school their children.  I did well in school.  Math was my forte.  I did well in composition but anyone that follows a methodical formula for writing a paper can do well in that.  As you can tell, I abandoned that years ago.  I don’t do better but I do know better.  I know she cringes when she reads something I write.

And you?  Like you don’t comma, splice, the heck outta your sentences?  Can you imagine having to retain and actually use all that stuff from school?  And teach it to someone else?  Naw.  I’d have to farm that job out.

Which means “this lady” and her husband are better people than me.  I like that.  I mean, its not like it takes a saint to be a better person than me.  That is not a huge feat.  I just know that the country would be better off if it was full of “this lady” people.

I wonder what the meal tasted like.  I wonder if she can be an objective judge of the food.  I know what she told her child.  So do you.

“This lady” is one that touches lives and never knows it.  One comment boasting on an achievement of her child speaks volumes.  It can cause those that read it to reflect on their own lives and reevaluate their own values.

Let’s just hope she teaches them the right way to make dressing.

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One Response to Reflections on Life while Sitting in Soiled Diapers

  1. Annie says:

    dude, you made me cry!

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