HUMOR
Hungry SaraMIAMI BEACH, FL 05 June 2009 |
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Of all my children, Sara was the one who excelled in adventurous eating. The top two were only 14 months apart, so I can time when I learned this fact precisely. Lonny was all skinny legs and dead weight in my front carrier and Sara was no more than 15 months old.
Sara was playing in the bedroom with her imaginary friend, Jack, who lived under the bed. I was in the kitchen and thought to look in on her since she was unusually silent. She and Jack were usually quite boisterous.
As I entered the front hall I met up with Sara. Her mouth was all chocolaty and she was holding what appeared to be a Baby Ruth. She was chewing. She was smiling.
She was eating dog shit.
I gagged. I ran to her screaming something I can’t remember. I really frightened her and I just feel awful about that, but honestly, wouldn’t you scream? (I realize that a picture of this would have been great, but at the time, my mind must have been somewhere else.) I picked her up and ran to the bathroom and, holding her aloft with my right arm, I moved Lonny's hanging little body over to the left. I rinsed out her mouth and washed her face and hands, all the while gagging and screaming as quietly as I could so as not to frighten her, or Lonny, more than I already had.
She was angry with me. She had been enjoying her snack.
(This, right here, is why you do not get an older dog from a shelter. More often than not, they are in the shelter because no one could housebreak them, or they never stop barking, or they attack anyone who passes who might be wearing boots or a hat. You walk in, fall in love and go home to raise a retarded dog, who is sweet as can be except for just one little quirk.)
Some of you may wonder just how sick Sara became after this. She did not get sick at all. She had probably been feasting on dog shit long enough that she was accustomed to whatever bacteria grows in dog shit.
A few weeks later, I was wearing my skinny legged baby as usual and Sara was walking next to me. She was always very dependable and did what she was told. I never had cause to worry about her misbehaving or, say, running into the street. We entered the elevator and Sara asked for the chapstick. I handed it to her. The elevator was full. When we got to the 6th floor, I asked Sara for the chapstick back.
“I ate it,” she said.
“You ate it?”
“Do you have any more?” She asked.
I did not realize up to this point that you had to explain to a child that chapstick was not edible. You learn something new every day as a mother. The tube was completely empty, right down to that little plastic circle with the point at the bottom.
I watched her pretty closely after that. She had a tendency to pick things up off the sidewalk and appear to study them, but if you looked away, she had already popped them in her mouth.
She ate lots of pennies and dimes and nickels, although she only sucked on quarters.
She ate flowers.
She ate gravel.
She ate dirt.
She ate little pieces of plastic.
You name it.
If it were in her path she’d tuck it in her mouth. She was pretty quick. I got so that I only worried if the item was too large. She had good instincts, though, and never choked on anything.
You might think that this would have made her a sickly child. You would be wrong. She never had the slightest stomach upset. I don’t think she ever vomited in her whole life.
Sara was three years old when we joined the Navy and moved to Annapolis. We used to treat ourselves to a dinner out once a week at generic fish ‘n’ chips greasy spoons, where Lonny could make lots of noise and run around like a banshee and no one would care, while Sara sat patiently waiting to eat.
At one particular dinner that is emblazoned in our minds, we asked Sara what she was chewing, because our order had not yet arrived.
“Gum.”
“But we don’t have any gum.”
“I do.”
“Where did you get gum?”
“From here.”
She indicated the underside the table.
Then she smiled and showed us her cupped hand full of used pieces of chewing gum that she had been busily been prying loose and collecting.
“These are for later,” she explained.
We gave her the “You Shouldn’t Eat Gum from Under the Table” lecture, but, really, we knew it was useless. We at least got the gum out of her mouth that time and her stash of the moment.
You do what you can do. (I do wish I had had a camera with me then.)
By the time the top two were old enough for small chores, and before the bottom three were born, we asked what chore each would like to do. Lonny didn’t want to do anything, but we made him do little things that wouldn’t push him over the edge. Lonny did not like to be told what to do. Sara offered to clean up the dishes after dinner every night.
This is how Sara looked at this time:
After a while I noticed that the plates were coming into the kitchen pretty much clean. There never seemed to be any leftovers. This is when we cottoned on to her trick of eating everything that anyone else had left over on his plate each night. She really enjoyed cleaning up after dinner, but she had her own reasons.
By this time we thought we had a handle on Sara, but then the unthinkable happened.
In High School, Sara became a vegetarian.
Seriously.
The girl who could and did eat anything, stopped eating all meat and fish.
(What category would dog shit be in, anyway?)
When she went to college, she came home a vegan.
(I've told you her history. Can you believe this?)
I had to make Thanksgiving for all the ravenous carnivores in the family and an entire vegan Thanksgiving also. I discovered upon researching that the “Tofurky” is no match for the “Now and Zen.” She had to have vegan “turkey,” “gravy,” “stuffing,” cranberry sauce, (Okay, that one was easy,) and dessert with no meat, fish, eggs, milk, butter, gelatin, or any animal product. She still liked to eat, mind you, she was just suddenly enormously finicky.
Thankfully, she has reverted a bit and as of now is a regular vegetarian with a touch of pescatarian thrown in on occasion. She will eat milk products, but only those from “The Happy Cow Farm,” and only eggs with painstaking requirements that boggle the mind. (Just try to go shopping for her.)
This from the girl who ate dog shit.
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Yeah, well, what lessons did you expect me to learn? Remind me who couldn’t be bothered to get me a clean glass of water from the sink but instead left a cup that I could just dip in the toilet when I was thirsty?!
I am not making this up, nervous breakdown friends. They actually gave their toddler daughter a toilet cup.
Again, really, what did you expect?
(Small wonder I retreated to vegetarian food after what you intentionally fed me! Survival instincts, Lady!)
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!
Sara!
I never knew you were using the cup in the bathroom to scoop up toilet water!
There was a step stool for you to reach the sink and we TAUGHT YOU how to use the faucets!!!!!
Lordy, Lordy, Lordy!
Every time I write one thing I learn something else yet more horrible.
Sara! Why did you never tell me this?
WAIT!
There is a cup in your own childrens’ bathroom!!!!!
AHA!
What goes around comes around.
I’m dying over here! Toilet cup.
Phat,
My children are ALL out to get me. Unquestionably.
I do not remember this. You yourself told me this story about the toilet cup several times (Mahomet, Champaign) as evidence for how stubborn and quirky I was about my independence. Basically, you said you gave in to my demands because I really wanted to do it myself. Now, as a parent of two little ones who constantly want to do disgusting things, I have two things to say.
1) kids are revolting
2) you don’t enable their disgustingness a a parent!!!
What were you thinkin’, Lady? (again with the “Lady…”)
Ask Dad; He might remember. I think you regaled me with his story in front of some high school friends– if I wet get back in touh w/ them, will ask.
Sara,
I am obviously getting demented. I cannot remember this at all. Not the slightest glimmer.
You WERE very stubborn, that I obviously remember.
I remember you told me that you taught Lonny the trick of brushing the toothbrush hard on your hand so it SOUNDED like you were brushing your teeth, then putting a tiny dollop of toothpaste in your mouth for the breath test.
Why couldn’t you just brush your teeth?
I’ll see if any of my friends remember, but I’m pretty sure they are all as addled as I.
Sara,
And futhermore, your father doesn’t know any of your middle names or your birth dates, with the exception of Lenore’s birth date since it is TAX day. Most of the time he doesn’t even remember he HAD children.
Ask Dad! I say HA! to that.
sara you are awesome
do you let your kids eat poop or drink out of the toilet
just wondering
i dont have kids but i definitely would let them drink from the toilet
mom sometimes i think you might give people the impression that we are not normal
Lonny,
I’m pretty sure that abnormal is our middle name.
Ask dad.
I’m sorry, honey. He doesn’t remember.
If it makes you feel better how about I admit that I certainly did tell funny stories about all of you because you did such crazy things.
I mean, duh, that’s what I do here. I just don’t remember this particular thing.
Lonny doesn’t seem to remember it either.
You are probably right.
All of this happened and because there was SO MUCH material to deal with I have lost some of it somewhere in my brain.
As I get further into dementia, I understand that older memories become uncovered. I suppose we can hope for that.
I believe you. I just don’t remember it.
nonono
the “ask dad” in the last line was a joke
because you said dad doesn’t even remember our middle names
and then you said “abnormal is our middle name”
wasn’t funny, i guess.
A thousand apologies, Sara.
This whole comment line is totally out of order.
I don’t know how anyone could understand what went on in this whole process.
Now I understand you.
That really is hysterical.
He DOES remember his grandchildren, though. Hard to believe, but true nonetheless!
(I actually asked him. I’m totally an idiot!)
Sara said, “You yourself told me this story about the toilet cup several times (Mahomet, Champaign) as evidence for how stubborn and quirky I was about my independence. ”
Well, I lived in Champaign during the relevant time period, and I never heard of this story until now. I know that if I had heard of it, it is the kind of think I remember.
Perhaps Sara drank from the toilet (a little girl imitating a dog), but it is not something that her parents would brag about or even allow. I never head this toilet cup story until now, and (sadly) it will be hard for me to forget the mental picture I have now.
AHA!
Yet another of my friends chimes in!
You see, Sara? It’s becoming increasingly clear that you imagined this in your fertile brain and came to believe it.
I used to eat Vaseline. That stuff was good. Oh, and paper. If you look at books I read as a kid, all the pages are missing their corners because I used to eat them. Then, I too became a vegetarian, vegan, vegetarian, and pescatarian.
Maybe there’s a trend here…
KAAA ATE!
You ate VASELINE?
(I have a horrible urge to taste vaseline now. Just to see, you know? I really hope the urge goes away before I can act on it.)
Paper I can understand.
Paper tastes good.
I get that. (Doesn’t everyone?)
But what is the deal with all you normal children turning into crazy weird picky eaters later in life?
I just don’t get it.
Carbon paper tastes bad and thermal paper tastes worse.
And you know this…HOW, Adam?
Don’t tell me you’ve eaten carbon paper. Yuck!
(You’ll have to tell what thermal paper is before I will be suitably impressed.)
Thermal paper employs a heat-sensitive chemical that changes the color of the paper as an alternative to ink. Any receipts you receive with crisp, solid black printing are likely thermal paper. If you’re curious, hold the paper to a flame, but not close enough to ignite the paper; the whole sheet should go black.
Thermal paper is the bane of restaurant expeditors and waitstaff, as ready entrees are placed in the “window,” which keeps them hot until delivery, with a ticket designating which entrees go together, and to where — which ticket is invariably printed on thermal paper and goes black and illegible in the window.
Well, thanks for telling me, but I still never heard of it.
I suppose it was because I was never a waiter since I have a grave problem with clumsiness.
Nick ate paper and got pinworms in his butt. How disgusting is THAT? I guess that’s why he’s a meat and potatoes guy today.
Christine,
Why in the world would eating paper give you pinworms? I think whoever told him that was incorrect. It just doesn’t make sense. I don’t think pinworms can live in paper, they need a digestive tract of a mammal.
Now maybe my kids can understand why we didn’t have a dog when they were little.
Trish, Trish, Trish,
It’s not ALL dogs. It’s older dogs from a shelter.
We had terrific luck with rescue dogs.
Sorry, you are NOT out of the woods with this one, Trish. Your children will be able to torture you for the rest of your life.
A TOILET cup?! LOL!!
I just spit out my tea. A toilet cup! Irene!!!
Oh Criminy!
My own firstborn daughter has coined the term “Toilet Cup” for all the world to use.
I will never outlive this humiliation!
Gina, just wait till YOUR daughters are in their 30’s! THEN you’ll find out what they’ve been doing all along!
As long as everyone flushed, it’s not a big deal. Below the floor, it’s the same pipe.
Unless you used some kind of tank sanitizer, in which case it’s a very big deal.
Well, at least there’s that, Adam. We never used any of that blue stuff on account of we never had a dog who did not prefer water from the toilet to fresh water in a dog bowl.
The dog is the canary; the water’s fine, Q.E.D.
I’m not sure if that’s true, but I chose to believe it since it makes me feel better.
Jimminy, Dana!
I had NO IDEA it was a toilet cup until this particular child who just turned 37 years old yesterday! How could I have guessed this was what was happening?
Who would have imagined?
Really, Dana, cut me some slack here.
(Now there is an actual term in use named: “Toilet Cup.” Thanks a lot, Sara!)
My kids barely eat meat at all. They’re already vegetarians. They just eat cheese and yogurt and ravioli. Is the inverse true? Does this mean they’ll grow up and eat dog poop?
Greg,
I’ll go out on a limb here and say that barely anyone grows up to eat dog poop. I’m pretty sure that if you don’t do it when you are little, you have other weird quirks when you grow up.
But, seriously,Greg, do you actually KNOW your kids haven’t experienced the certain je ne sais quoi of dog poopy when you have not been around to notice?
HA! No one can feel safe anymore!
They’d prefer poop of the feline vintage, if poop they sampled.
I might be showing a prejudice here, but we’ve had zillions of cats through the years and NOTHING smells as bad as cat poop. I’m pretty sure that dog poop is superior in taste to cat poop.
You probably have nothing to worry about.
A toilet cup, huh? You guys DID have those cool Japanese toilets, though, right? Probably more sanitary than the sink. Ha! (Or did the toilet cup predate the cool, musical toilets? Or was it the reason for the purchase of them in the first place?) So many mysteries here from the Zion household…
Nope, can’t say that I blame Sara one bit for going veggie. She’s probably still in therapy for what she ate as a child. It’s a wonder she eats at all.
( :
Hilarious post, Mama Zion.
Erika Rae!
We did not get the glorious Japanese toilets until after our trip to Japan two years ago.
There is no discernible reason for Sara’s thinking she had a cup for the special use of drinking out of the toilet!
Now I have to find out if she taught Lonny about the “Toilet Cup”.
And, I’m sorry to all you vegetarians and vegans, but THERE IS BACON IN THE WORLD! Who in their right mind would turn down BACON? Crispy, hot, spicy, wonderful BACON!
I would, Irene. Sorry. Meat makes me so ill… even bacon isn’t worth it.
Cayt,
Did you have some strange “food” cravings as a child? Ask your mother.
I think there may be a connection between odd cravings early on and vegetarianism later.
Just postulating here.
My mom says I was the one who ate dirt pies. I remember making them, but not eating them. To this day I am still not a picky eater. I guess you never know how they are going to turn out. My daughter Ashlynn (who is 14 months) is a picky eater. I hope this changes because my husband and I are not and we love to cook new things.
Yeah, Amy, well get this:
Victor and I love to cook and eat new and wonderful things. But we had in mind things like sushi and bouilliabaisse and tapas and file gumbo. NOT DOG POOP!
Get ready.
You won’t even know until you are old and grey. They never tell you a thing until it is too late to do anything about it.
Trust me on this.
Ah the family Zion.
11,
I need some support here.
My brother is also notoriously finicky, after getting off to a grand start on canned dog food and hard green dog biscuits…my dad used to gag into one hand while using the other to scoop masticated Doctor Ballards from my brother’s mouth. I don’t know how he developed a taste for the stuff–my chore once I was big enough to do small chores was feeding our poodle, and the smell wafting from the can was so putrid that I mastered holding my breath a really, really long time.
Now that he has a son of his own, I’ve been tormenting my brother with jokes about feeding his baby some meat. The doctor gave the all-clear a little while ago, and they’ve started with some bland veg. Joking about giving “meat” to the baby pushes my brother’s buttons to the point where he can’t even pretend he thinks it’s funny. He gets all pinchy-faced and chuckles in the voice of someone who’s going to punch you in a New York minute if you say that thing one more time.
Perhaps, like your daughter, he used up his adventuresome appetite young, compressing a lifetime of experimentation into eleven short months.
You see, Amanda? Now he’s going to take his own weird background, which he alone is entirely to blame for, and foist it on his poor unsuspecting son, making him a girly vegan or something.
Tell him I said to MAN UP!
My nephew is lucky enough to have a dad who believes in being prissy and a mom who believes in eating dirt and shoving clods of fresh-mown grass into your diaper (since you’re crawling around pantless and have no pockets for carrying stuff). I like to imagine the little guy will find a place in the middle ground and turn out a perfect (dirt-eating, room-tidying) angel.
….and if not then his Aunt Sissy (that’s me) will pick up the slack and teach him all about balance.
Amanda,
It sounds like everything is covered for your nephew to grow up to be a healthy, well-rounded kid!
Good for you!
OY VEY…you crack me up all the time. So Sara started that phrase. The one I told my ex as he left, You can’t make me say it , I am a good girl.
Melissa
You said “Toilet Cup” to him?
Melissa, that doesn’t even make sense.
You are hiding something deep and dark here, aren’t you!
She’s referencing the coprophagia, I suspect.
Dammit, Adam, you are just a kid and you made me look up a word. I have a very nice vocabulary, I’ll have you know. It just doesn’t include these sorts of words.
Or at least it didn’t.
Being just a kid goes hand in hand with commanding this kind of vocabulary. We’re both showing ourselves for who we are, I’m afraid.
Are you saying I’m an adult or an old hag here?
My response to you is dependent on knowing that.
I’m saying I’m apparently the type to have actively, independently learned a five-syllable word for eating shit, and you seem to have had no such inclination, which probably speaks to our respective characters and maturity levels in a more cerebral sense.
Adam,
You know just what to say to calm down an insulted old lady!
You charmer, you!
oh Irene are you going to make me say it? I told him to eat shit, among other things.
Melissa
Oh. Melissa. I’m SHOCKED!
(But, on the other hand, I’m right behind you!)
From now on, the people that get on my last nerve are going to be called TOILET CUP.
As, My son in law is a toilet cup.
Melissa
Eventually good things evolve from bad things.
I have many examples.
(But they are too serious for right now.)
Did you just give up, Irene? Just give up and let her eat whatever crossed her path? Live and let live?
It makes sense to me. Built up her immune system. Notice, if you will, that she didn’t have any stupid peanut allergies or gluten intolerance.
She was adorable!
Marni,
I have to say that I totally worked at never, ever seeing her eat dog shit again, but she ate the other stuff so fast and never seemed to have any bad effects at all. Except for the ear infections that were the scourge of the family, she never got sick.
I had two rules for her:
1.No dog shit.
2.No choking on big pieces of anything.
That worked out pretty well. She’s a totally healthy young woman now, except for her predilection for eating no BACON.
(That was MY dress she was wearing in the last photo. Both my girls wore it. Didn’t mean a thing to them, but it did to me.)
This was a fun read. My son eats everything and anything as well.
Dew(ed)
Your son will be healthy as an ox. Just watch out for all that girly vegetarian stuff!
It doesn’t matter what your kids eat (ate) I would make out with each and every one of them!!!
Oh, to be a child of the House of Zion.
Kimberly,
Savor every moment.
I’d give my life for ten minutes back with the five of them as little kids.
My life.
“Savor every moment” is good advice not just for parents but for everyone, and applicable to almost every situation.
Amen.
it wasnt all dog shit and used gum i assure you
Yeah, That’s true, lonny. (But is the normal stuff funny?)
When you write your parenting how-to book, Irene, make sure you stress the value of allowing the child to build that immune system early on. Zion Toilet Cups will fly off the shelf like hotcakes, or urinal cakes… now theres another marketing item for you!
Cripes you’re funny.
And man am I glad I’m not one o’you chillen.
Josie,
I’m pretty sure that there is an injunction out there someplace preventing me from writing any advice for parents.
Yup.
Pretty sure of it.
(If you want to see the colorful, juicy urinal cakes, you have to go on facebook, guys.)
I’ve never had dog feces, so I don’t know how they would taste. Perhaps Sara was a head of her time and into recyclying.
Heck, George, that really might be it!
She’s RELIGIOUS about recycling.
You think?
And I was wondering what to have for breakfast today. Dog shit and toilet water, you say?
I don’t know… is that gluten free?
Well, Simon,
I didn’t say, SARA did!
But, to answer your question, it would be entirely gluten free only if the dog were on a gluten free diet.
Can’t say as I bought gluten free dog food any time, so I’m guessing not.
(Although, perhaps the gluten is totally used up in the dog’s digestive tract. Then, it would be gluten free.)
We need a veterinary gastroenterologist to chime in here.
Anyone?
Jeez Louise! Sara is one of those few, those happy happy few, who really CAN say WITH authority:
“That tastes like shit.”
Sally was way ahead of me no this one, Irene. Try as you might, with the denouement, the catharsis, and the reveal all rolled into one pithy, cut to the chase sentence
separated from the intro so it proudly and theatrically stands on its own and throws the punch as the first line of the turned page
Sally kind of groaned “Oh, no…” as she read the last line.
And then, after turning the page, said she thought it would’ve been her little brother’s.
I tried dog food & dog biscuits as a kid. The biscuits were not too bad, and the food was OK at best, but, as Amanda noted, it stunk. And I also tried a mud pie. My friend Marni, when we were 5, said “Let’s make some mud pies”. So we went to the front of the house, behind the squat evergreen shrubs, where the hose and faucet were, and dribbled enough water into the good Long Island soil to make up a nice batch of 4 or 5 mud pies, and Marni convinced me to eat one.
It was moist, and needed a little more body, with an overlu coarse texture. It tasted gritty. I’d've said it tasted like shit, but that was before this story.
Frank and Sally,
I am totally jealous that you came up with that line first!
(I’m kicking myself right now!)
I think all kids eat sand and dirt and things like that. We just don’t always know.
I was pretty sure that my son Benjamin, was going to turn into a human schmoo. He ate THAT much sand as a toddler!
Most recent foray into the culinary outre: rabbit testicle (live minutes before). Larger than either their hearts or brains; hilarious!
In the same home and company as the squirrel spaghetti. I always have such an excellent time.
Adam,
I don’t believe a word of this. You’ll have to come up with some proof here. The first one is possible, I suppose, but the second doesn’t even make any sense.
I admit it: I’m only repeating a comment from a cousin more intimately involved in the processing of the rabbit in question, but with a sense of the size of rabbits in general and this testicle in particular, it seemed wholly plausible.
Your cousin is pulling your leg, methinks.
Well, Adam,
Unless it’s just spaghetti with pieces of squirrel meat. I was picturing making spaghetti out of the squirrel itself. That was a really unreasonable interpretation. I’m just losing my mind here, sorry.
In another time, the young Sara might have worked as a royal food-taster. I mean, it sounds as though there was no poison she couldn’t tolerate.
Thank God she never bumped into John Waters. Have you ever seen “Pink Flamingos”? The final scene, with Divine eating shit that’s only just fallen out of a dog’s ass, literally made me sick.
A poison-resistant taster would run a high risk of execution were the royalty to prove less hardy.
Ah. Excellent point, Adam. My reasoning facilities aren’t operating at maximum capacity this evening.
Oh, poor Sara!
I’m glad Adam caught the flaw in this job before she applied for it!
Duke,
Unluckily for me Victor is a HUGE John Waters fan. We’ve seen all his movies. More than once. Divine in that scene makes me gag every time.
Lenore was over last year and made me watch some horrid show where people had to drink shakes made with worms and live flies and all sorts of disgusting things. I had to run outside to the back yard. I was gagging so hard I was sure I would vomit. I rarely vomit though, even in these circumstances. Only one time in five pregnancies.
Lenore watched the rest of that show by herself. I think she was very pleased to have made me feel so sick. Crafty, sick little bitch that she is.
I gagged as well when watching that scene, as I pretty much said. I think the only thing that’s ever created a similar reaction in me was a video I once saw in which a group of guys at a wedding, who each took a toothbrush out of a glass of water, brush their teeth with it, then put it back in the glass, only to have the groom lift it to his mouth and drink his friends’ backwash. It was all I could do not to vomit on the spot.
Duke,
Was this a video at an ACTUAL wedding or a fiction thing? At least if it were fiction, they wouldn’t actually be drinking what it looked like they were drinking.
I hope it’s the latter.
I ate a moth ball when I was four. It looked like candy and I shoved it in my mouth as quick as i could and swallowed. Had to get my stomach pumped out which I’m still traumatised by!! I became a very picky eater after that little episode…
Oh Zara!
Didn’t you SMELL it? That’s horrible. It’s poison, too, so it’s lucky someone found out what you did!
Damn. I NEVER want to experience either eating a moth ball or getting my stomach pumped out.
I’ll give you picky eater after that!
i don’t even wanna know the kinds of dreams i’m gonna have about this…
Let me know in the morning, Ben. I’ll bet they’ll be fun.
I think my kids would eat a dog turd before they became vegetarians. Tim used to throw meat parties at our house where nothing was served but enormous roasts and other meaty items. My favorite was the cinnamon garlic roast cooked on a grill. It was yum. I’m positively sure it was better than any selection of animal feces.
I have only now started to make meals where meat is not the center point. Everyone has a problem with it but me. Next time I’ll get them all crap sandwiches and see how they like that.
Tim learned to cook from me. He was apparently paying attention when I didn’t know it. He knows all my recipes. None of the kids have the gumption to make my breads, though. I can sort of understand. You have to devote a really long expanse of time to making good bread and all of them are working or going to school. (Well, most of them.)
The only one that I’ve been able to recreate is the roast. I suck at the pastas. Cooking is a pain-in-the-ass. I just stick with McDonald’s and Marshmellow Matees these days.
Oh Tim,
Pastas are easy. I’ll show you next time.
What are “Marshmallow Matees”?
irene:
irene, i love your writing, period. you are a glorious storyteller and every post you give is loaded with great snippets, of, well, life. it’s charming, and like your daughter’s stuff, is so funny, so: zion.
you guys are crazy.
i like your world (s).
keep writing. lord, please keep writing.
yup,
tiny reno zion
tiny reno zion,
You are the sunshine of my life.
“Tiny Reno Zion” — great circus name!
And he’s a great circus guy!
I don’t think I ever saw pictures of Sara as a baby but she looks exactly like pictures of Lenore I have from when she was a baby!!! It is quite possible you told me this story but I don’t remember. This seems to be happenning a lot lately.
Ruthie,
So far I’m not getting anyone that remembers this story of Sara’s which I understand she believes totally.
Either she imagined the whole thing, or all of my friends are joining me in senility.
I really hope she imagined this.
I don’t want us all to end up in the funny farm together!
Sorry, Ruthie,
Sara and Lenore looked identical down to their fat little feet.
I think I have shown you the picture of Victor’s mother as a child. Sara and Lenore are the image of her.
I have to carry them and go through labor and raise them and the boys all look like Victor and the girls both look like his mother who hated me, by the way.
I don’t remember any of this. Memories are a tricky business. Sara’s pictures are wonderful.
Ursula,
You are yet another of my close friends that does NOT remember that which Sara ABSOLUTELY remembers.
I think it is clear that either Sara is a nut case, or all of us are descending into senility.
I hate to put the juju on Sara, but I really think ALL of us shouldn’t have to be put in nursing homes for one memory from a girl with an incredibly huge imagination.
Envision this:
“Friends, Victor and I want you to know that we not only let our dogs drink out of the toilet, but our firstborn. Well, what would *you* do? She was stubborn!”
No, the only way this was gonna come out is if you were trying to embarrass your obnoxious pre-teen/teenage daughter.
Sara,
So far, not one of our friends remembers this. I’m just saying….
I never thought your friends would know about it. I thought *my* friends would know about it. Again, it doesn’t seem like good out-to-dinner conversation for you to bring up with your friends because, well, they were adults. But it is terrific material for putting your too-big-for-her-britches daughter in her appropriate place. Which is why my friends might have heard about it. Again, since I don’t actually remember eating poo or drinking toilet water, I am actually relying on your (many-times-admitted faulty) memory for these, *ahem,* nuggets… And since I am not in touch with friends from high school, the world will never know if I have any witnesses. We’ll just have to content ourselves with the toilet cup mystery posed but not solved.
Maybe Amy remembers. You could ask her. I’m going to ask Dad when he comes back, but he doesn’t recall having had children most of the time.
Kate likes special eggs, too. Every time I go shopping with her part of me wants to buy a chicken farm just so I can make up random marketing terms that attract guilt ridden people (all of whom probably ate dog shit at some point or another…) to spend more money on eggs.
For instance, “comfortable chicken” brand eggs could probably get a 50% markup from Kate and co.
Ben,
I am positive that you are right about this.
Maybe you SHOULD buy a chicken farm.
and you could call it Moma Mia Mi Eggs
Debby,
Okay I’m seeing it:
Mama Mia Mi Eggs
“from comfortable chickens!”
you got it. I was a bit too Museum oriented on the first one
Mom.
This is disgusting.
Yup. I know. Welcome to my life.
It is so unbelievable I am at a loss for words.
The highest compliment, Cecile! Thanks!
I am glad you never told me any of this before. And I hope you don’t tell me any stories like this again. South Beach diet is looking better!!!
Don’t worry, Jack. Oddly enough the MOST disgusting story I have is off poor sweet Sara. Anyone else would guess Lenore, naturally, but there you go. The vicissitudes of life.
tootsie roll, baby ruth, dog shit or meat loaf. all pretty much the same thing. i would rather eat dog shit than have my dog lick her crotch for ten minutes and then lick my face. look at the bright side, she didn’t like to eat things that were sharp or hard to remove.
ksw,
Or stick things up her nose that got stuck. I know you know loads about that!
What’s the coolest thing you’ve pulled out out of a kid’s nose?
Even though I lived next door to you for quite a few years, it was when Sara was quite a bit older, and I don’t remember ever hearing the dog poo story. I don’t think I would have forgotten it!
Whoever said dog licking is worse was right. When I was about 12 I got worms from my dog licking my face. Apparently they were pretty commen then when dogs roamed around more than they do now and didn’t have as good veterinary care. My doctor had jars of them in his office and just had me identify the kind I had — very civilized really. But the pills I had to take were enormous– about the size you would expect to use on a horse.
EEEEWWWWWWW!
Nasty, Marcia!
It’s true back in the old days people didn’t even take their dogs to vets. I’m not sure there was even medicine to give them to keep the worms away then.
My parents bought me a puppy in Brooklyn when we first got there who already had distemper. Didn’t they have medicine for that then?
Sorry for my late comment! Dewey ate his poop for a while but now he stopped. I gag just thinking about it. When I was little I ate the usual dirt, grass, an ant, play doh, glue, a dog biscuit, a dog treat, a cat treat, liquid lip gloss, and a few other things I can’t remember. Now I just eat cookies.
Keiko,
It is truly a relief to know that both you and Sara have grown up and out of eating pica.