[photo credit – Kevin Richards on Flickr]
[This picture actually has noting to do with this post.]
[Other than the fact I always like to include a picture in my posts.]
[And also, the name of this dog is Taco.]
[And also again, pictures of actual tacos are not all that lovely… nor appetizing, for that matter.]
Our family often observes “Taco Tuesday” on not-Tuesdays.
It’s how we roll.
“MOM. We should do Taco Tuesday EVERY Wednesday!”
My poor kids. They have no idea they could have a much better mother…
So. I made tacos last night (Wednesday night).
I kid you not… anytime I tell the kids I am making tacos, you’d think I promised them ice cream everyday, topped with cotton candy and bubble gum for the rest of their lives. AND in their afterlives.
“Thank you Mom!”
“Oh, Mom! THANK YOU!”
“YAY! Thank you thankyouthankyouthanyou…”
“Mom. You are so pretty.”
“Mom. I really like your hair today.”
“You did a really good job picking us up from school today.”
My children may have the gift of buttering-up kissing up exhortation.
Or they are taco deprived? Are tacos a vitamin?
The platitudes rolled ALLLL evening… As they gushed about my fabulousness, I lovingly burn my arm on the hot pan… suffering oil splatter burns, oil stains on my clothing… and coated the walls of my home with taco scent… that will last FOR DAYS.
In fact, my arm has been burned so much, I get asked about my arm. I really should just answer questions about the burn scars by saying, “Oh. Yeah. That’s my Taco Arm.”
Tonight the praises of my children reached a peak.
Olivia (8) – “MOM. Mom. MOM. *insert loooong pause here to indicate earth-shattering news ahead* You would TOTALLY win a taco making contest.”
Joel (11) – “Yeah. You would. And… Are you MEXICAN? I mean, you have to be at least PART Mexican.”
Arriba, yo.
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