food lovely food

It was a lovely day here - highs in the mid 70s and clear blue skies. I spent it with my sweet little Brownie out at a jamboree, touring colonial era houses, making tiny clay pots and tiny raffia dolls, and learning to make rope from marsh grass fibers. (Oh! The memories from girl scouts!! The egg carton fire starters and badges and cookie sales and s'mores and roasting camping food in tin foil over a fire! I'm enjoying this as much as she is).

Speaking of colonial eras, may I say here that I am so glad that my dear son was born in today's modern age and in a country full of glutton and easily-available food? After a nice baseball game, whereupon he admirably controlled his emotions and was just a perfect little example of good sportsmanship and maturity, he came home and FELL APART upon learning that none of his friends were available to come over and play with him tonight. I'm talking wailing and gnashing of teeth and sobs and sobs and sobs as he collapsed on his bed. I was in tears myself, imagining that this was the start of hormones. I was trying to think of a nice way of telling DH that the only way to save my sanity and our marriage was for me to live in another country until Q was 27. It was horrible. I'm not kidding about my tears, either.

Then it was dinner time.

After watching Q inhale half of his meatball panini before the rest of us had put fork to mouth the first time, I looked at DH and asked him "Did you feed my son today?" DH looked puzzled, then said, "Well, he had a little peanut butter sandwich before the game."

Huh.

Talk about your miraculous turnarounds. The sunny, happy version of Q is back, now that he is well fed. Holy cats. He would have been a hermit if he'd been around in food-sparse colonial times. That, or he'd have been the much feared tyrant. How many wars do you suppose have been started under the influence of low blood sugar??