how we know our family

Part 1:
Last night,while I was cooking supper (manicotti stuffed with arugula, prosciutto and goat cheese) Annabelle decided to feed the dog. She went to the pail where we keep the food and put it on a plastic plate. She kind of went over board, as she tends to do, and poured it all over the laundry room floor. I told her she needed to clean up that mess before papa came home. She said "No mama, I want him to say 'oh my goodness, what a mess!'" She repeated this several times while I was trying to convince her to clean it before he came home (I live like the movie sleeping with the enemy except without the abuse-- and to be fair, after a hard day at work, he should come home to a clean, happy child, a smiling wife and a house that doesn't have dog food all over the floor).

She was waiting by the door when he came home.

Annabelle: "papa! Come and look at the mess I made!!!!"

Hyphen walked into the kitchen and laughed and exclaimed:

"Oh my goodness! What a mess! Oh my goodness! Annabelle, look at your mess!"

Me: "well, he doesn't disappoint does he?"

part 2.
My mom tends to hold on to things. The other day she gave me some benadryl that expired in 2000. When I complained about it, she chided me, "Oh, Stella, they just put that on there so you will buy more. Expiration dates don't mean anything." Umm, okay. The sheets on Annabelle's bed at my parents house are Bambi sheets from the 70s that she has held onto all of these years. There was a freakish cold snap at Easter last year and I didn't have a coat for Annabelle, but she still had Audrey's little pink coat at the ready. She is the poster child for "waste not want not," or the Hoarders show, depending on your point of view.

Yesterday, she cleaned out her pantry. She threw away some things. Including a can of corn that expired in 1991. Of course, I had to tell my sister this. Her response-- "were you surprised by that?" Not really, no.

part 3.
My manicotti dinner.

Me: "well, how is it?"

H: "well, its okay. But you know I don't like this kind of stuff."

Me: "what do you mean?"

H: " you know, woman food. Like quiche and sandwiches."

Me: " I was thinking about putting sausage in it."

H: "that might have made it okay."

Actually, I do know he doesn't like to eat that kind of stuff. But as he knows, I don't really care.