It’s Gonna Be Worth It

We purchased a Dodge Caravan in 1988. Dang, I loved that thing.

The kids were little then, and we practically lived in the car. In fact, we hadn’t owned it a week before we took a bloomin’ road trip to Williamsburg, Virginia. Twenty-six hours each way. What were we thinking?

Doug and I made up a little poem to inspire the children to take good care of the car when it was new. “If your feet are on the seat, your buns will feel the heat.”

You can probably guess that if we didn’t allow feet on the upholstery, neither did we allow food or drink in the van. You’re right. Years passed before as much as a bottle of water found its way into that vehicle.

These days, I haul Mom around in my four-year-old Saturn wagon. All our cars are paid for and highly valued because of it. None will be replaced anytime soon, as our dollars have been otherwise allocated. :)

So WHY do I allow my mother to eat extra-long Coney hotdogs with mustard, onions, mustard, pickles, mustard, cheese, chili and mustard in my CAR?

I wish I knew.

I took her to the doctor today, who said he’d sure seen her look worse. He even said she could wait six whole months before returning for the next routine visit. That must me some kind of a Mama Record.

Before Nurse Mary could pop the tourniquet off her arm, Mom said, “Where are we going for lunch?”

“Mom, it’s 10:30. You just ate breakfast…”

“Are you kidding me? That was two hours ago! I want Sonic!”

I knew what was coming, believe me. It’s just that I hoped she’d keep the whole mess bagged up until I got her back to her apartment, safely ensconced on her couch with it all laid out on the coffee table before her. But NO!

Before I could fork over the carhop’s tip, Mom had ripped into the bag and exposed the flimsy pasteboard cradle containing the object of her desire. Honestly, I couldn’t even tell if a hotdog lay buried beneath all those accoutrements or not.

Mom assured me one did.

“This is fantastic,” she said, before she’d snarfed down the first bite.

“But there’s no fork, and you can’t possibly pick it up,” I whined. “And I’ve never seen so much mustard in my LIFE.”

“I know,” she purred. “It’s luscious.”

Now, watching Mom eat is a study in itself, even if the item being consumed is relatively neat. Because of her permanently broken humerus, she really only has the reliable use of her right hand, so the left serves no purpose beyond the voracious ripping of wrappings.

My hope that Mom could wait until I got her out of my car? A vain hope, indeed. My lifelong dream of driving a mustard-colored Saturn has come true, though.

If you could have witnessed what occurred over the next ten minutes as she inhaled her Coney, you would have died laughing. I could barely restrain her from diving in before I got a glove compartment-load of napkins spread out over her ample frontside, from neck to knees. But did it matter?

Not one whit.

She exclaimed in ecstasy while I removed clumps of relish from her pink and blue flowered t-shirt. Great globs of mustard found their way into the tiny crevices on her belly’s napkin overlay and spread like a growing jaundice on her pants. Chili dripped through her fingers, encrusting her silver claddagh ring like rust.

The impotent napkins quickly lost their meaning, and I found myself using my bare hand to catch the droppings as she raised the behemoth again and again to her mouth. At one point, I cautioned her that she was ingesting grease-soaked, stuck-on pieces of napkin, but she insisted they tasted like onion to her.

“I love this place. That was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“Mom, I’ve raised three kids to adulthood, and I’ve never had to clean up a bigger mess than you just made.”

“It was worth it, though, wasn’t it?”

Maybe not quite yet. I mean, gee Mom, the mustard hasn’t even dried.

But I know this with my whole heart: Someday, it’s gonna be worth it all.

Posted by Katy on 05/21/07 at 02:00 PM

Fallible Comments...

You the best daughter ever.
Posted by alison on 05/21/07 at 05:10 PM
Reading your columns is one of the highlights of my week! ~Terry
Posted by Theresa E. Miller on 05/22/07 at 06:46 AM
Katy,

Delightful read. You are blessed to still have her with you. Imagine my surprise when I arrived in Ocala from Wichita and found Sonic!

I'm not sure how I'd rather mis-treat this pile of protein - Sonic or Krystal ( known to mid-Westerners as White Castle.)

Thanks for the smile.

Ronnie
Posted by rellis47 on 05/22/07 at 04:56 PM
First off, glad to hear you tip the carhops at Sonic. I never even considered tipping the carhops, until our eldest daughter became one and would come home talking about the "tips" she received. Now, although I pretty much try to steer clear of fast food in general, but Amy loves the Sonic "ice" so we often have to stop to get a ROUTE 44 whatever with "lots and lots of ice" and any place that serves tater tots has a special spot in my heart, I feel guilty about not tipping, albeit they've made it more difficult by letting you swipe your debit card at ordering thing.

Amy can not resist opening anything in our cars (not that we have any dream of them passing a cleanliness inspection ever were it conducted by NYC health inspectors with a fondness of over looking rodents if their palms are properly greased - the inspector's palms, not the rats (which I'm now trying not to think about having palms). She will open mail, any and all boxes especially those stuffed with styrofoam popcorn, and even stuff sealed in that impossible plastic stuff which I can open at home with a handsaw.

When it comes to "Hot fries/tater tots" it's non-debatable. She "must" sample them immediately despite my be protestations that opening the bag will make the 'not hot' by the time we get home.

It's something I long ago surrendered to...

It's simply in her nature.

One might asked the question of "WHY do I allow my mother (or for that matter anyone) to eat extra-long Coney hotdogs with mustard, onions, mustard, pickles, mustard, cheese, chili and mustard" - anywhere? Not just your car.

But I know the answer: because you love her...and it makes her happy.

Plus, the potential for blog fodder would seem enormous :)

One day you may look at that mustard stain on the car seat and praise God for the memory.

Grace & Peace,

Michael
Posted by Michael Main on 05/22/07 at 06:10 PM
You've got to hand it to your mother - she gives you some great stories.
Posted by alison on 05/23/07 at 09:36 AM
Alison--My mother gives me the best stories EVER. Sometimes I feel like the crummiest daughter in the world, but I do keep showing up for the job, so that's something, I guess... :)

Terry--I am so happy to hear from you! Thank you for reading here.

Ronnie--I am blessed to have her, you are right. I am TRYING not to be someone who doesn't know what she's got till it's gone. Life is too short to wish the Coney dogs away!

Michael--I'm only picky when the car is relatively new. Or the carpet in the house. After a while, anything goes. Like Amy, I have to open the darned bag! NOW. I do enjoy Route 44 Diet Limeades from Sonic, but he ONLY thing I eat from Sonic is their onion rings. I don't have them often, but especially after a grueling ER run, they are my comfort food of choice. And there's NO WAY I could wait to open them for TEN whole minutes until I got home? What if Jesus came back right then and I NEVER got to eat those onion rings??? Hmmmm????
Posted by Katy on 05/24/07 at 08:03 AM
Perhaps you should forward this entry to Sonic--they may want to feature your mother in one of their commercials.

My mother has a similar love of Sonic though she has the use of both hands.
Posted by Terri on 06/07/07 at 11:50 AM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	It’s Gonna Be Worth It We purchased a Dodge Caravan in 1988. Dang, I loved that thing. The kids were little then, and we practically lived in the car. In fact, we hadn’t owned it a week before we took a bloomin’ road trip to Williamsburg, Virginia. Twenty-six hours each way. What were we thinking? Doug and I made up a little poem to inspire the children to take good care of the car when it was new. “If your feet are on the seat, your buns will feel the heat.” You can probably guess that if we didn’t allow feet on the upholstery, neither did we allow food or drink in the van. You’re right. Years passed before as much as a bottle of water found its way into that vehicle. These days, I haul Mom around in my four-year-old Saturn wagon. All our cars are paid for and highly valued because of it. None will be replaced anytime soon, as our dollars have been otherwise allocated. :) So WHY do I allow my mother to eat extra-long Coney hotdogs with mustard, onions, mustard, pickles, mustard, cheese, chili and mustard in my CAR? I wish I knew. I took her to the doctor today, who said he’d sure seen her look worse. He even said she could wait six whole months before returning for the next routine visit. That must me some kind of a Mama Record. Before Nurse Mary could pop the tourniquet off her arm, Mom said, “Where are we going for lunch?” “Mom, it’s 10:30. You just ate breakfast…” “Are you kidding me? That was two hours ago! I want Sonic!” I knew what was coming, believe me. It’s just that I hoped she’d keep the whole mess bagged up until I got her back to her apartment, safely ensconced on her couch with it all laid out on the coffee table before her. But NO! Before I could fork over the carhop’s tip, Mom had ripped into the bag and exposed the flimsy pasteboard cradle containing the object of her desire. Honestly, I couldn’t even tell if a hotdog lay buried beneath all those accoutrements or not. Mom assured me one did. “This is fantastic,” she said, before she’d snarfed down the first bite. “But there’s no fork, and you can’t possibly pick it up,” I whined. “And I’ve never seen so much mustard in my LIFE.” “I know,” she purred. “It’s luscious.” Now, watching Mom eat is a study in itself, even if the item being consumed is relatively neat. Because of her permanently broken humerus, she really only has the reliable use of her right hand, so the left serves no purpose beyond the voracious ripping of wrappings. My hope that Mom could wait until I got her out of my car? A vain hope, indeed. My lifelong dream of driving a mustard-colored Saturn has come true, though. If you could have witnessed what occurred over the next ten minutes as she inhaled her Coney, you would have died laughing. I could barely restrain her from diving in before I got a glove compartment-load of napkins spread out over her ample frontside, from neck to knees. But did it matter? Not one whit. She exclaimed in ecstasy while I removed clumps of relish from her pink and blue flowered t-shirt. Great globs of mustard found their way into the tiny crevices on her belly’s napkin overlay and spread like a growing jaundice on her pants. Chili dripped through her fingers, encrusting her silver claddagh ring like rust. The impotent napkins quickly lost their meaning, and I found myself using my bare hand to catch the droppings as she raised the behemoth again and again to her mouth. At one point, I cautioned her that she was ingesting grease-soaked, stuck-on pieces of napkin, but she insisted they tasted like onion to her. “I love this place. That was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” “Mom, I’ve raised three kids to adulthood, and I’ve never had to clean up a bigger mess than you just made.” “It was worth it, though, wasn’t it?” Maybe not quite yet. I mean, gee Mom, the mustard hasn’t even dried. But I know this with my whole heart: Someday, it’s gonna be worth it all. Posted by Katy on 05/21/07 at 02:00 PM Fallible Comments... You the best daughter ever. Posted by alison on 05/21/07 at 05:10 PM Reading your columns is one of the highlights of my week! ~Terry Posted by Theresa E. Miller on 05/22/07 at 06:46 AM Katy, Delightful read. You are blessed to still have her with you. Imagine my surprise when I arrived in Ocala from Wichita and found Sonic! I'm not sure how I'd rather mis-treat this pile of protein - Sonic or Krystal ( known to mid-Westerners as White Castle.) Thanks for the smile. Ronnie Posted by rellis47 on 05/22/07 at 04:56 PM First off, glad to hear you tip the carhops at Sonic. I never even considered tipping the carhops, until our eldest daughter became one and would come home talking about the "tips" she received. Now, although I pretty much try to steer clear of fast food in general, but Amy loves the Sonic "ice" so we often have to stop to get a ROUTE 44 whatever with "lots and lots of ice" and any place that serves tater tots has a special spot in my heart, I feel guilty about not tipping, albeit they've made it more difficult by letting you swipe your debit card at ordering thing. Amy can not resist opening anything in our cars (not that we have any dream of them passing a cleanliness inspection ever were it conducted by NYC health inspectors with a fondness of over looking rodents if their palms are properly greased - the inspector's palms, not the rats (which I'm now trying not to think about having palms). She will open mail, any and all boxes especially those stuffed with styrofoam popcorn, and even stuff sealed in that impossible plastic stuff which I can open at home with a handsaw. When it comes to "Hot fries/tater tots" it's non-debatable. She "must" sample them immediately despite my be protestations that opening the bag will make the 'not hot' by the time we get home. It's something I long ago surrendered to... It's simply in her nature. One might asked the question of "WHY do I allow my mother (or for that matter anyone) to eat extra-long Coney hotdogs with mustard, onions, mustard, pickles, mustard, cheese, chili and mustard" - anywhere? Not just your car. But I know the answer: because you love her...and it makes her happy. Plus, the potential for blog fodder would seem enormous :) One day you may look at that mustard stain on the car seat and praise God for the memory. Grace & Peace, Michael Posted by Michael Main on 05/22/07 at 06:10 PM You've got to hand it to your mother - she gives you some great stories. Posted by alison on 05/23/07 at 09:36 AM Alison--My mother gives me the best stories EVER. Sometimes I feel like the crummiest daughter in the world, but I do keep showing up for the job, so that's something, I guess... :) Terry--I am so happy to hear from you! Thank you for reading here. Ronnie--I am blessed to have her, you are right. I am TRYING not to be someone who doesn't know what she's got till it's gone. Life is too short to wish the Coney dogs away! Michael--I'm only picky when the car is relatively new. Or the carpet in the house. After a while, anything goes. Like Amy, I have to open the darned bag! NOW. I do enjoy Route 44 Diet Limeades from Sonic, but he ONLY thing I eat from Sonic is their onion rings. I don't have them often, but especially after a grueling ER run, they are my comfort food of choice. And there's NO WAY I could wait to open them for TEN whole minutes until I got home? What if Jesus came back right then and I NEVER got to eat those onion rings??? Hmmmm???? Posted by Katy on 05/24/07 at 08:03 AM Perhaps you should forward this entry to Sonic--they may want to feature your mother in one of their commercials. My mother has a similar love of Sonic though she has the use of both hands. Posted by Terri on 06/07/07 at 11:50 AM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: Ginormous Fallible Milestone! Previous entry: Nothing But Time << Back to main


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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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It’s Gonna Be Worth It

Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri