E flies the coop and P reads cue cards...

P, exploring Red Hook, in search of grocery options...


So, E's flown the co-op coop. As his birthday neared and his two make-up shifts he'd layed to lurk reared their ugly heads, he said he was done. He didn't want to get up early on his birthday weekend to clean toilets and stack shelves. In fact, he didn't want to get up early to do those things again, ever.

We've been together since we were children. And we've figured out how to co-exist pretty peacefully, despite the wrench we threw into our idyllically easy pre-child existence (but gosh, he's a really cute and huggable wrench:). But when the man vetoed my path to perfect produce, I cried Big Fat Tears. I kid you not.

And I realized then, I'm a kitchen perfectionist. Call it snobbery, if you're feeling disdainful. I want my veggies farm fresh, non-irradiated, grown by local farmers, who till the soil with love. That's a lot to ask in our modern culture, I know. I also want a streamlined shopping experience. No big box stores with overwhelming selections of stuff. And I want this all in one location. No piecemeal for me. Boxed goods from one spot, CSA veggies from another? No thanks. And last but not least, in my car-less culture, the schlepp figures in. Big time.

But the man, he asks for very little, truth be told. And he was more adamant than I have seen him in.... well, ever. I suggested I do both of our work shifts. But the Little Man had had enough of that kind of silly talk. My one shift was already shoving it too far for him...

And E felt himself the dark knight, that he'd rescue us from our socialist workshifts and bring home the fakin' bacon all in one fell swoop. Alas, have I mentioned I'm a kitchen perfectionist (fill in "psycho" here, if you must)? The thought of someone as food/cooking-clueless as E picking out my produce made me pouty and dizzy for days. I cook, often, three times a day. P and I generally enjoy our time creating in the kitchen and really enjoy eating. (P has a list of recipes he's created himself that are delish! Surprisingly delish:) So, honestly.... Hi, my name is Mama, and I'm a kitchen snob. I'd rather have dry toast than a canned spaghetti sauce. Store bought bread crumbs don't cross our four flights of stairs... So, basically, my husband was paying the price for my produce pretensions (and reaping the yummy benefits - I'm not a total bitch!)

And what, I'm sure you're wondering, does this have to do with The Little Man??? I know, if I were actually interesting, I could get my own damn blaaahg and not hijack my child's. The point of this post, was P's reaction to our discussion. As E and I chatted through our preferences and listed our concerns, P was so squarely in my court it was hilarious. I know families that don't "discuss" anything in front of their kids. Admirable approach. But E and I rarely see one another when P isn't there (um, ever). And we'd like to try to mentor positive listening and cooperative living....

Nevertheless, as I'd mention my concern of, say, my inability to shop or feed my family (ha, this is so unfair to my fabulous husband it borders on hilarious! Ahhh, he could always go and get his own freakin' blog....) But as I'd mention my concern of irradiated vegetables or organic prices at other stores, P, ever listening, would occasionally march over to E and firmly hold his father's face. "Papa. Papa!!! You're not listening! We have to shop at the co-op! What if I want to get something during the week? What if I need some food? I can't wait for you to bring it home each night!" Heehee :)

There is peace, and if not perfect produce, at least food, in our house these days. But I really have to remember to watch myself around the Little Man. Last night, as P and I ate dinner, the cat climbed up a ladder, only to then puke and let the vomit drop all the way down to the floor with a serious splat. It was so disgusting it was hilarious. I laughed, wishing E was home to appreciate it with P and I, and thusly, P mini-chuckled. Then, as the cat moved on to make three more messes, leaving me with no appetite, I heaved a sigh of discontent. That was it, just a sigh. Hearing it, P stood on the bench and stomped his little leg. "Danda! You are making a mess! YOU, are a Nasty cat!" I nodded at him, trying not to chuckle at his indignation (oh the irony of the primary mess maker tsking the cat!) and then made sweet clucking noises to my de-hair-balled feline. As he heard this, he too clucked and petted sweetly..... Oh boy. I may have failed to influence my husband's eating intentions, but the kid is obviously way under my sway :)