NEWBIE PARENTING #10,000
It's inevitable. Sooner or later, Michael will figure out that not all of the "Gems of Wisdom" I've been lovingly -- and with stylish verve -- flinging at him are worth their weight in blather. So, the revelation du jour is his realization that Moi is not, after all, a ... Great Chef.
Yes, Moi -- who considers all the kitchen aids to be sculptures vs. things to be used -- actually told Michael months back, "Not to worry. I am a Fabulous Cook! Extraordinary really..."
The crime occurred when I was forced to make something culinary for one of his homework projects. FIRST, AN IMPORTANT DIGRESSION -- math tutoring is not easy for me, but cooking is simply TORTURE! WHAT IS UP WITH ALL OF THESE "PROJECTS" THAT REQUIRE PARENTS TO USE ALL THE KITCHEN SCULPTURES?!!! I DON'T RECALL MOM COOKING DIDDLEY-SQUAT FOR ME WHEN I WAS MICHAEL'S AGE -- THIS IS REALLY ONE OF THE MOST RIDICULOUS OFF-SHOOTS OF GOVERNMENT BUDGET CUTBACKS...
Anyway, so a few months ago I made one of the five dishes I know to make for Michael's Spanish class. While many other parent were whipping up enchiladas or whatever in five seconds, there I was torturing Michael with the process of making my deliriously-dreamy coq au vin (I really don't cook, but I do know five wine-affectionate dinner recipes. Michael might aptly laugh at me frying two eggs but I can do these utterly sublime veal chops in lemon sauce...but I digress again).
So, more recently, I had to make a cake for one of Michael's science classes, with said cake to be the edible metaphor for some sort of cellular organism. Okay. I don't do cakes. But I gamely bought those boxed cake-making sets, okay? Good thing I bought two. Because though the instructions are simpler than Cake-Making For Dummies, I actually screwed up the first attempt. But I did manage to get a cake done with the second try.
Well, it's only recently that Michael finally whispered to me -- after he watched me botch up the frying of two eggs -- that Nobody in his science class ate my cake. NOBODY.
Aw c'mon! It's middle school! How can no one eat cake?!
Folks, I was about to get really depressed. But you know what perked Moi up? It's that Michael still believes Yo es muy famosa poeta!
Famous, I tell you! And none of you -- especially you, lurker-hubby! -- better disavow him of that notion!
Speaking of which (I think), here's Michael when we visited Alcatraz. He is shaking the hand of the last living guard at Alcatraz when it was still operating as a prison. Apparently, said guard wrote a memoir -- I actually bought it for Michael because I wanted to model the notion of buying books (yeah!).
But I don't recall the author's name -- he just spends his days now hanging out at Alcatraz's gift store signing his books for the tourists who buys them. Well, whoever you are, Mr. Whats-Your-Face, not to worry: I concede you are more famous than Moi. After all, an ex-prison gift store's got your back. What poet can match that?