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Subject: [FOLKLORE FAMILY] Dinner is Served
Date: Thu, 20 Jun 2002 10:41:59 EDT

DINNER IS READY WHEN THE SMOKE ALARM GOES OFF

As a mother of teens, I spend half my life shuffling down the bright
aisles of the supermarket with a glazed look in my eyes, and the other half
listening to a chorus of, "Ma, there's no food in this house!"
Just yesterday, I followed a dented maroon van in a caravan of
"grocery moms". I laughed aloud when I read its bumper sticker: IF WE ARE
WHAT WE EAT, THEN I'M FAST, CHEAP, AND EASY.
Truer words were never slapped on anyone's backside!
Minutes later, at the store, I wheeled my squeaky cart past that same
grocery mom and noticed she sported a bright yellow t-shirt stating: ALL
STRESSED OUT AND NO ONE TO CHOKE.
I know the feeling! Especially since last week when our beloved
microwave became too pooped to pop while trying to prepare my snack of
light-buttered popcorn.
Two days and $79.99 later, I was the proud possessor of Mabel -- my
new microwave. Some folks name their cars, boats, or dog, while I lovingly
christen my food zapper.
Forty-eight hours without a microwave was definitely "cruel and
unusual punishment" for this baby-boomer, even though I grew up totally
nuke-less.
That's right! As a pre-teen, I remember enjoying a TV-dinner as a
once-a-year treat while we watched the Wizard of Oz on television. Mom
would put our foil-covered trays of Salisbury steak, peas & corn, and hot
cinnamon apples into the pre-heated oven and they would be ready by the
time Elvira Gulch's bike blew past Dorothy's window.
These days you can nuke a microwave "baked chicken breast in gravy
with mashed potatoes" dinner in six minutes -- the time it takes to unload
the dishwasher, throw laundry in the dryer, and lose a couple games of
computer Solitaire. Mabel's bubbly beep is music to my ears and I'm truly
proud of all her hard work.
I'm also proud of the fact that I can nuke a baked potato in about
seven minutes fluffy (not flat). My mother-in-law, a travel agent for
guilt trips, is quick to point out that she used to peel five pounds of
potatoes daily so her brood of seven kids could have mashed potatoes with
their roast beef, pork chops, or meat loaf.
I try not to feel guilty (or strangle her) when mom-in-law serves my
kids chili with homemade noodles, or chicken soup that's been on simmer for
three days. After all, I work full-time and then dash home to a tribe of
two teens and a burly husband, where she merely had to be at home with
seven kids, burly husband, wringer washer, and wood-burning furnace that
had to be fed every hour.
My sister Diane says I shouldn't let my mom-in-law blanket me with
guilt. After all, Diane's kids survive without homemade noodles and
homemade bread too. She says we shouldn't give anyone the power to make us
feel "un-Martha". (Usually she says this as she throws thumb tacks at the
poster of Martha Stewart in her rec room.) For example, when Diane was a
newlywed, her husband made the mistake of suggesting she serve him pancakes
in bed.
"If you want breakfast in bed, sleep in the kitchen," was her testy
retort.
They've been married since 1983 and as far as I know he's never
repeated the request.
My husband and I tied the knot in 1982 and, even though I've never
served bacon in bed, our marriage is still sizzling. But while things may
be cooking in my bedroom, I usually don't enjoy heating up the kitchen.
My kids, however, love to eat almost as much as I hate to cook. They
expect to come home from football, forensics, or pep band, to a hot meal on
the table, even though I'm usually bustling in the door at the same time.
Yesterday, my son bounded in from Freshman football practice, plopped
his sweaty self at the kitchen table and proceeded to guzzle Glacier Blue
Gatorade while burping, "When do we eat?"
"Dinner is ready when the smoke alarm goes off!" I yelled over my
shoulder as I proceeded to pre-heat the pizza oven, peel the cellophane
from the frozen pepperoni pie, and set the table with our good paper
plates. I may not be a five-star chef, but at least I'm a multi-tasker.
Sometimes I wish I did have the time, talent, and energy to spread our
table with a bounty of roasted foods and gourmet desserts. In truth
though, I'd rather spend my spare time reading, writing, and enjoying my
family. Who knows, maybe someday I'll take a cooking course and flambe the
socks off of my loved ones.
Until then, I'll listen for the sweet sounds of Mabel beeping "dinner
is served".





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*: * Richiele * *
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