“I have a
great idea, Deidre! I'm going to make you hot dog's to bring to school
for lunch!” My 6 year old brain could not wrap my head around the
fantastical words that had just left my mother's mouth. “What do
you mean? At school? FOR LUNCH??”, I couldn't accept it, it was too
magical. “Will they be cold?”, I asked, trying to find the holes
in the possibility, not wanting to get too excited. “No, I'm going
to put them in a thermos with the hot water. I'll put the hot dog buns
on the side and then you can put them together at lunch.” This was
a first grade miracle. At that age, there was nothing I loved more
than food (which makes it exactly the same as today) and hot dogs were
one of my most coveted delicacies (which, again, makes it exactly the
same as today). I've always had a discerning pallet. I sat at the
tall seat of the kitchen, eating my soft-boiled egg and toast strips,
and watched my mother prepare what was soon to be the greatest school
lunch idea that had ever been birthed. It was painful getting through
the first several classes to lunch. I could think of nothing else, no
preoccupation with who I would sit next to. No concern that I had
peed my pants during class several months ago. No worry about whether
or not April or I would get to the swing-set early enough to save the
other a swing. Not even a thought about the possibility that I might
get assigned the role of “Gargamel” if we played Smurfs, which
was just our 6 year old way of saying, “We've decided, for no
reason at all, that you suck today.” And then, the bell rang (yes,
I am from the days of yore when we actually had school bells. Unless
they still have school bells, in which case, I'm still from the days
of yore but the school bell thing has hung on. Way to go school bell,
gotta be honest, I never thought you'd last. Kinda like Journey.) So
we filed in line, I went to my classroom cubby, grabbed my lunch box,
filed back in line and headed for the cafeteria. I was shaking with
anticipation. I could only imagine the envy in my classmates faces as
they beheld my hot dog lunch. It was everything I imagined, the
hot dogs were still warm, the girls and boys around me were impressed,
someone even offered me a strawberry shaped AND hamburger shaped
eraser, just for a BITE of my hot dog. To which I answered decidedly,
“No”. Very generous of me. I pulled out my little baggie of
strawberry Quik that my mom sent with me which I added to my carton
of milk. I felt joy like I had not felt in my short 6 years of life
and I ate that lunch with the soundtrack of “The Sound of Music”
or maybe to the soundtrack of “Mary Poppins” running through my head. Hey, I was 6, those
were my only soundtracks. As I put my trash on my tray and started to
pack my lunchbox with my thermos, I heard the voice of my first grade
teacher, “Deidre. Is that thermos empty?” “No”, I responded,
because it was still full of hot dog water, remnants from my mother's
greatest creation yet. “You know the rules, you have to finish
what's in your thermos so it doesn't leak all over your cubby and
jacket.” “But, Mrs. Wills...”, I protested, even though I was
somewhat of a garbage disposal, even I didn't want to drink warm hot
dog water. “Deidre, I'm not going to say it again, finish it and
stop holding everyone up.” So I did it. I drank that hot dog water.
Totally worth it, by the way. I regret nothing!
When I got home my mother, excited to
see how my lunch went, met me at the door and asked, “How was
lunch?!” “It was so good! You were right, the hot dog's were still
warm!” Which in my head was some sort of witchcraft. “Oh good!
I'm so glad you liked it!” “Yeah, the only bad part was having to
drink the hot dog water.” I replied and headed for the cupboard for
some cereal. Yes, that's right people, I was famished. I hadn't eaten
in at least 2 hours. My mother was perplexed, “Oh, honey, you
didn't have to drink the hot dog water! Were you still hungry or
something?” Reasonable hypothesis. “No. Mrs. Wills made me drink
the hot dog water. It's a rule.” That's when it happened. Something
switched. My mother went from Mrs. Brady to Sarah Connor in the
Terminator in 0.5 seconds. She grabbed my hand and WALKED me back to
the school. No joke. To this day, it's unclear what she did with my
sister and brother. Did she leave them at home in a motherly rage?
Did she send them next door to the Meymaris'? Did they walk with us?
It's an enigma, if you will. But what is clear is that my mom stormed
into that school and gave Mrs. Wills a what for. I knew in that
moment, that nobody should ever cross me because my mother would take
them the f' down.
Why am I writing about the hot dog
incident as a tribute to my mother on mother's day one might ask? And
the reason to me could not be more simple. Everything that I
appreciate and love about my mother is exemplified in this situation.
My mother is creative. In all the ways. Even in the way she thought
up a lunch that would blow my little 6 year old mind. She is
thoughtful, right down to the little baggy of strawberry Quik because
she knew I didn't like regular milk. She let me be me, from letting
me shave a patch of hair on the side of my head, to giving me a dirt
bike with pegs for first communion instead of a 10 speed and for
being the kid whose most exciting aspect of the day would be hot dogs
for lunch. She is a force to be reckoned with. She was the strongest
and scariest human to stand 5 foot 1 when you had crossed a loved
one. From running up one side of Mrs. Wills and down the other, to
flipping the bird at the man in the 16 wheeler who almost drove her
off the road with a car full of my friends and screaming, “I have a
car full of kids in here ass hole!” and to any person who has ever
hurt me (justly or unjustly) throughout my life. Seriously, if you've
ever upset me, my mother probably still knows your first and last
names as well as your next of kin. You should be locking your doors
at night lest you want a small, 70ish year old, Italian German woman breaking in and giving you a mouth full.
Thank you mom for the hot dogs. And all
the other things. I like to think that I've internalized some of
these qualities about my mother that I admire. If I can be half of
the woman my mother has been in her life, I think I'm doing just
fine. I love you, Mom!
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