Will you spoon with me?

The other day we went over to my parent’s house to have dinner after work. Since our daughter is fussy over what she eats we’ve been trying everything under the sun to see if she will at least EAT SOMETHING. We’ve tried bread and butter, green beans, macaroni and cheese, small rocks. Most of this is hand fed to her with her baby spoon. She’s a little young to be holding the spoon herself. It’s that whole hand eye coordination shit she is lacking.  Don’t worry; she practices everyday when I give her the controller for the Xbox. Look at the values and education I’m providing her with a little Halo and Grand Theft Auto.

Because we’re lucky enough to have my mom watch Cardin everyday while we slave to make the mortgage I’ve bought a lot of “duplicate” stuff so we don’t have to lug this crap back and forth.  Ya know; cups, bowls and spoons. The things I’ve purchased for her to use are all new and infant appropriate; they are even BPA free you freaks! And then my mom has to go and whip out my old baby spoon during dinner the other night. I gotta tell you; this thing looks as though it was made for an elephant. The head of this spoon is bigger than my eyeball. Might I ask how this ginormity of a spoon will fit into my child’s small mouth? Compare for yourself. New, small, plastic, safe purple spoon vs. huge, metal, poke you in the eye spoon.

And that’s what set off Buddy Lee.

Pardon while I digress to explain this name. See my mother never liked to wear jeans. EVER. No, really. E.V.E.R.  Throughout my entire childhood I NEVER saw her in a pair of jeans. Khakis, shorts, even capris, but never a swatch of denim shall meet her legs. Until one unforgettable day. I had graduated from college and had come home for a visit and there she was, in all her glory, sporting the nicest pair of jeans I ever did lay my eyes on.  We were so struck by that change that my brother and I started calling her Buddy Lee, after the little character guy in the Lee jean commercials. Henceforth she is known as Grandma Buddy Lee. (I can just see her reading this right now and rolling her eyes. Your welcome mom. I know you’re proud).

Returning to the rant. My mother insisted that this hunk of metal was my baby spoon and it was perfectly fine. The head of the spoon was intentionally that large so that a child could pick up food and not shake it off in an attempt to bring it to their mouth. Listen Lady, the rational this woman uses amazes me day in and day out. Clearly, I had used it 27 years prior and it all worked out ok.

WRONG AGAIN. I have a huge phobia of using large sized forks or spoons; I think that they choke you when you use them. Yep, I’m Crazy (no wonder my nickname fits me so well). It was totally enlightening into my phobia of large silverware. The funny thing is, my mother KNOWS that I hate using large forks to eat dinner and when we go there I’m the only one who gets a special sized fork. When I was getting married and registering for items I specifically needed to find silverware with small sized forks. And there she is, 27 years later, creating another form of crazy in my daughter.

That’s two strikes Buddy Lee. First you make me phobic about large silverware and then you lie to me about Santa.

Oh you know…just typical picnic food. mostly.

I’m a half breed. As in, half Italian, half Irish. While I do love my meat and potatoes and I’ve been known to consume a little too much on St. Patty’s Day, I really do consider myself more Italian. Chill…I’m not out to start another Catholic/Protestant War. It’s probably because of the way I was raised and the fact that my WHOLE ITALIAN FAMILY OF 100 PLUS people live within a 5 mile radius of each other. Not kidding. I could literally throw a rock and hit my grandma’s house. Not that I would try, because I’m pretty sure she’d come out and beat me with a wooden spoon.  She’s a feisty lady for being 80.

With the family so close together it’s inevitable that they’ll be all over your grill about everything. I don’t consider this a bad thing. We have amazing traditions, our food and cookies are ridiculously delicious, and there is always some family drama that keeps the day exciting (like the time grandma fell off the roof. Yea, that was awesome. It was like a circus for months). Listen Lady, my husband and I chose to stay in the area and live near our family so that we could pass these traditions and ridiculous dysfunctions on to our kids. Because screwing them up ourselves is just out of the question! What else is family for, right?

Anyways, we always gather at my grandma’s house for major holidays like Christmas and then we throw in the occasional random bank holiday like Labor Day. It’s completely arbitrary because instead of celebrating all the hard work we do the other 364 days of the year by just relaxing, we go and have a party and create more work for ourselves.

The annual picnic tradition is that my grandma handles all the hamburgers and hotdogs and my aunts and cousins all bring a dish to pass. That is, except for the gnocchi (go type that into Wikipedia cause I know you didn’t pronounce it correctly). It’s not a picnic unless you have macaroni DAMNIT.  Grandma insists on boiling at least 10 pounds of pasta for these semi-small events. (as a side; semi-small for us is about 25).  I’m not sure why this is considered appropriate picnic food for our family. You would think that tiny balls of dough that clump together in your stomach to create a mass aren’t really lite fare. In all the other picnics I’ve attended a bowl of pasta with sauce has NEVER been on the menu, but then again who else eats deep fried weeds? My mouth is watering just thinking of them. 

You better be wearing a rosary if you even SUGGEST to grandma that we go without the gnocchi for the picnic. SINNER.  I mean, we wouldn’t have nearly enough food then with all the hamburgers and hotdogs and salads and potato’s and corn and…do I need to keep going?!? We could feed a small brigade with the food that is made. Throw in the gnocchi and I could feed the state of Rhode Island for a week Lady! OK, maybe 5 days.

Did I forget to mention that grandma also makes meatballs, sausage, and pepperoni for the sauce too?