It’s an important aspect of RosieLife. We have daily rituals of mealtimes, bedtimes, and mornings. We follow rituals of reading together, praying together. These rituals keep our family running smoothly. We all play our part in the whole.
We also have rituals of which I am not especially proud. We have the after-school-kids-get-in-a-fight-mom-loses-her-temper-and-yells-kids-storm-off-to-their-room ritual. And after that there is the I’m sorry/I forgive you ritual. There is the ritual which, after four pregnancies and four births, I’ve learned is unavoidable. It’s the one that comes with a three to five week old baby and all the hormones and lack of sleep. It’s the weepy mom who is over tired and impatient ritual. Don’t worry, I have a strong man to lean on during these days. I know from experience that it will end soon.
I’m sure there were many rituals in my childhood household, but today, in honor of my mom’s birthday tomorrow, I am going to discuss the ritual of Mom’s Fountain Drink.
Picture this:
We are in the car going through a fast food drive through. We have all placed our orders, and my mom has her usual Diet Coke. As she takes her first sip, she exclaims “I don’t think this is Diet! Did someone else get my Diet Coke?” We all shake our heads “no” and she takes another sip. She turns to the person sitting closest to her. “Taste this,” she says. “It’s not Diet.” This person sips my mom’s drink, replies that it does, indeed, taste like Diet Coke and hands it back to her. The drink is then passed around to Every. Person. In. The. Car. and we all affirm that it is Diet Coke. Only after we have ALL tasted mom’s drink is she convinced that she got the right drink. And though she may only have half left, she is satisfied.
This is truly a ritual. This is the experience virtually every time my mother orders a fountain drink through a drive up window since my early childhood. It’s a ritual I count on, and a ritual I miss when I’m not with her.
Happy Birthday, Mom! Here’s to sharing your Diet Coke with everyone in the car. I love you.
And for the rest of you, here is a photo fix:
George 3 weeks (couldn’t you just gobble him up? Yes, Christie, he does smell as good as he looks, and you are welcome to come and sniff him all you want. Bring your kids, I think they would be great playmates for my little ragamuffins.)
Fun in the back yard.
Papa and baby bear. or toad. Whatever.
