So, VERY tired tonight–shall share a short dissertation on ham and what it apparently means to my family.
On Saturday night, I made a ham for the family. We were going to my parents for Easter potluck, but my kids REALLY love ham, and it was on sale for obvious reasons. I bought two.
Anyway, it was enjoyed on Saturday, and then we went to my parents’ house and ate ALL THE THINGS Sunday, and then this morning…
I checked to make sure Squish was eating breakfast…
“So, uh, Squish. Whatcha eatin’ there?”
She smiled around a mouthful. “Something I found in the refrigerator.”
“You know, there’s also lobster mac and cheese leftover from yesterday.”
“Mm… good dinner.”
I thought this was cute–and gratifying, and then, as I was walking the dogs, I got a text from Chicken…
“I’m coming over.”
“Do you want me to bring coffee after I’m done walking dogs?”
“Sure. Thanks. But I’m coming over to eat ham.”
I got home and she was already comfortably ensconced on the chair, eating ham and mac and cheese. I made her a care package and said, “Now, remember to share this with your brother.”
“Fine,” she said. “But I swear to God if he comes into the living room after having cooked ALL the leftovers for himself and then gets all puzzled that I ask him for some, I’m going to beat him to death with my shoe.”
“Uh, that’s fair.”
“Mom, you have no idea.”
“Hello–I lived with him. I get it. Maybe explain that to him when you get home so we don’t get any calls from the police.”
“Whatever.”
Now, me, being me, found these two exchanges to be fairly funny, so tonight when Mate get home I said, “Oh my God! I have things to tell you about ham!”
“What about it?” he said. “I took some to work for lunch. It was great! I’m so glad you got two!”
So, uh, there you go.
My family and ham.
It’s apparently a thing.
