I had dinner at a friend’s house the other night. It was just Kellan and me, along with my friend, her husband and their kid, who is about 6-7 months older than Kellan.
None of that is really all that important to the story, other than to know that we were all there together and that my friend is just as type A as me. Also, she does not like messes. AT ALL. I cannot stress that enough. NO MESS or else she goes crazy.
Kellan is a super messy eater. I mean, a bib is a requirement or else a full on outfit change will be needed. Sometimes a bib cannot even contain the mess and we have to put on a new outfit despite our best efforts. I have found a pea inside of his belly button and cheese in his diaper, and yogurt dries on body parts like cement – FYI.
My friend’s child takes after her mother. The bib? Just for decoration. If a teeny tiny spill happens, the kid will not stop talking about it until they can clean it up. They as in the child.
During dinner, their kid did not hesitate to point out all the bits and pieces and giant chunks of food that Kellan had
dropped thrown onto the floor.
We had lasagna, so you can imagine what that was like for He Who Has Never Eaten Lasagna…look at all the layers. of. fun!
It was really good lasagna, so I have no idea why Kellan thought it was better on the floor…oh. Wait. Food is not just for eating when you’re a child. I am not sure when the switch happens in your brain that says DO NOT WASTE versus the one that’s all, “Hey! Neat! Did you hear the noise that noodle made when it hit the floor?! I wonder what broccoli sounds like?” The second one sounds like it would be way more fun, actually.
After dinner and the hose down of Kellan and a three foot perimeter around his high chair – which wouldn’t have been *that* messy, except….when my friend asked if I could bring his high chair, I was really proud of myself for remembering to put it in the car. And then when we sat down to eat, I went to grab the tray that attaches to the….oh. The tray. That is still at my house. The thing that contains a lot of the mess. Yah. Forgot it.
So, right. After dinner, my friend’s husband started showing me all of these tiny tomato plants that he was growing. When I say tiny I mean each was a little dirt ball had one thin, frail green shoot poking out. The dirt was in the form of a tiny pot…except without the actual pot. I’m not really sure how that all works but it is an important detail to remember: press formed dirt, no walls to contain it.
My friend is not fond of these plants because apparently they take over the house every spring and are dead before summer is over.
He had nine of the tomato plants on a plate that he had placed on a window sill behind their couch in the family room. I wasn’t paying any attention to them, really. My friend had left the room for a minute and I was sitting on the floor, also in the family room, playing with Kellan.
And then it happened.
Friend’s husband, who was sitting on the couch, picked up the plate of tiny plants – without pots – and started looking at them and then proudly holding them up, as if on display, all, “I have nine of these. I plan on sharing them with….”
He never got the rest out. It’s like all of a sudden one of those dirt pods realized it no longer had to confirm to its shape and it was all, “FREEDOM!”
And then it spontaneously combusted.
He looked up at me, frozen, still holding the plate, like “What. Just. Happened?”
I started laughing all, “Guess you only have eight to share, now.”
That must have jump started his brain because he quickly started picking pieces of dirt off of himself and the couch, saying “don’t tell her! I don’t want to get in trouble!”
My friend comes back and joins us at about that time and I tried to stop laughing and keep the secret. I really did.
But…seeing her sit on the floor with me, her back to ‘the incident’ – completely oblivious to her husband behind us, frantically picking up dirt, trying to be discrete at the same time, was too much.
I lost it. I was laughing without being able to explain why while my friend is staring at me all, “What is so funny?”
Finally, her husband fessed up and told her he made a mess, because I was unable to contain myself.
Sorry about that, husband to the type A wife. I tried.
Then, as I was leaving, I am treated to a story about beans. Apparently, during a recent Whole Foods shopping trip, friend’s husband decided he wanted a bag of a 15-bean mix from the bulk department. You know, the self serve section where you control the amount of product you buy?
Except, he had a slight issue with that concept and ended up with waaaaaay too many beans. So many beans he had a third of a gallon ziplock bag full leftover that he had no idea what to do with.
So, what’s a man to do who had already offered me bean soup with dinner (I thought he was joking) and whose wife had tisk-tisked the fact that they bought entirely too many beans and what are we going to do with all of these?!
I’ll give them away, he says.
As I was handed leftover lasagna to go, I also had a bag of beans shoved into my arms while I’m told of a great 15 bean soup to make and the husband saying, “See? I told you we’d get rid of them!”
Way to sell it, buddy. I’m super excited about this bag of beans, now.
My friend chimes in all, “Yah! I’ll send you the recipe! You can even put a ham cock in it!”
I look at her and then look at her husband, who is looking at me like another plant pod had just exploded.
“Ham hock, honey. It’s ham HOCK.”
And a footnote: I text her later all, “I was laughing about the ham cock all the way home.”
Yah…I guess I don’t know my meat.