How do you know…

That your son has finally come home from college for the summer?

Clue #1 – The living room looks like this: 


Actually, we’ve got most of this stuff sorted and into storage now. But…wow. (Disclaimer: The Vera Bradley bag is mine.)

Clue #2: His bedroom, which had been your peaceful and cozy study until two days ago, looks like this:


Piled on the not-really-made bed are all the clothes I washed for him yesterday.

I’m really not complaining. I couldn’t be happier that he’s here for eight glorious weeks. Not only do we have the benefit of his company, his wit, and his charm, but we also have his energy, his ability to fix broken stuff, and…drumroll please…his interest in NORMAL FOOD.

Finally there’s someone else in the house who enjoys a good steak on the grill, and doesn’t insist on a chewy substance made out of vital wheat gluten, with a name I can’t even say right. (Seitan: is it SAY-TAN or SATAN? I suspect the involvement of the latter.) Someone who doesn’t require all his wheat products to be not only whole grain, but with added flax, chia, and spelt. Someone who will drop everything and run with me to the nearest frozen yogurt joint on a whim (we did that yesterday). Someone who drinks actual milk FROM A COW and doesn’t experiment with a food processor and various substances, creating muddy messes pretending to be “milk.” (Oatmeal milk. Flax milk. Sorry – in my book, no dairy = no milk.)  Here’s a little fact that is probably TMI: Having had my gall bladder out some years ago, I do NOT need as much fiber in my diet as my near-vegan daughter prefers. The fact that her gall bladder removal yielded the opposite result is an eternal mystery.

And I realized awhile ago that the fact that the one family member who still lives at home now refuses to eat what I cook is hitting me hard. Feeding the people I love has been a huge part of my identity for 25 years. That’s gone now, and it hurts. So having one of my darlings at home who I can stuff to the gills on a regular basis is pure joy.

This mama (and her tummy) is doing a happy dance.


2 thoughts on “How do you know…

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