Last Sunday, I was struck with a migraine right about time to fix dinner. I crashed, leaving Jeremy to fend for himself and the rest of the gang. He resorted to the emergency stash of frozen cardboard pizza. It was Aiden's turn to say the blessing on the food. How's this for sincerity?
"We're thankful for this food that Dad . . .
. . . put into the oven."
On the subject of food, I submit we should also be grateful for a free enterprise system of feeding our faces. During our garden's heyday this summer, we had an abundance of zucchini which I tried to use in diverse and sneaky ways. Jeremy will readily admit that he likes zucchini a grand total of once every summer, but I was undeterred. One day I chopped it up and hid it inside a calzone. The kids scarfed it down, so I reveled in my success until Jeremy made a comment about our Communist dinner. Ha! I guess that makes me the czar.
No comments:
Post a Comment