I can’t say “Are you fondue worthy?” without having visions of Elaine discussing spongeworthy-ness but, you know, with my weird food issues, this is an actual concern. Fondue, like chocolate fountains, is just one of those things I tend to avoid. It’s the type of thing that shows up at random parties beside bowls of cut up pieces of pound cake and mini marshmallows and strawberries. But instead of deliciousness, all I see is double-dipping and bits of fruit dropped in the chocolate. It’s like a petri dish of germs; like children in a kindergarten class.Â But it has recently come to my attention that I am batshit crazy AND there are places like The Melting Pot where you can fondue with people you like. So, now, it’s like I’m constantly filtering people I see into two groups…would I fondue with you or not.
So, one of these days I am going to taste my first fondue. BUT, I’m still not ever eating organ meat. I know it’s kind of against my religion and all (we of the chopped liver) but even just saying organ meat squigs me out.
These are the kinds of things I think about while sitting alone waiting for Isabella’s pre-k graduation to begin.
Note: there were very few parents in the room that were fondue-worthy.
Isabella came home this week with an assignment; she was to show up at her graduation ceremony in brown pants and a brown shirt. “To play THE DIRT in the play, Mommy!” OF COURSE. The dirt. Because every little girl gets excited to be the dirt. Also, what four-year-old has brown clothing? She did have one Hannah Montana t-shirt, but somehow I thought that was inappropriate for her Shavuot-themed song, so she borrowed a shirt (now dress) from her big sister. But, she sang her little heart out as the dirt – with a flower hat – and she graduated pre-k and now is a big kindergartener and we bought her a cupcake to celebrate. I didn’t even get a cupcake for myself; I didn’t want to take away from her special day. But, dear god, I want cupcakes. NOW.
ALSO…when did my kid become a teenager?
Also, something else I thought while she was up on the stage; while my baby, my youngest, was graduating from preschool. I am moving on to another phase in the life. We are at a stage where we can go away. We are out of diapers, out of bottles, out of pacifiers, out of sippy cups.Â We are out of babies.
And while I know we are done, I have these moments. They flicker in and out quickly while I’m smelling the top of a baby’s head, or skipping past the baby aisle at Target, or watching my little girl become a kindergartener. Moments where I want another one. I want to hold one and smell one and tickle one and have one fall asleep on my chest and rock one to sleep and see those first smiles and first crawls and first steps and first “mama”s.Â But, you know, we are out of babies. Â We are done. 100% I mean, I would have the husband all V-worded up rightthisverysecond if he wasn’t such a chicken. But it doesn’t stop those moments. I wonder if they’ll ever stop.
I’m probably better off thinking about fondue. It’s probably less trouble.