Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



Friday, April 1, 2016

Mom Spit


Notice the cute little boys.
One with hair. One with . . . cheeks.
Ignore the glasses.
When I was expecting my second son, I craved anything 'tomato'.
Pizza, spaghetti, anything I could put tomatoes in or on.
But especially tacos.
Mmmmm. Tacos.
There was only one problem.
I couldn't get them hot enough.
I would buy the hottest salsa I could find.
Not enough.
Add a couple of drops of Tabasco.
Still not enough.
A few more drops. (I admit it. My spice world was limited to salsa and Tabasco.)
Almost there.
Seven drops.
Perfect.
And that's the way I ate them.
The entire nine months.
My baby boy was born without any hair on his head.
None.
I think I burned it off.
This is relevant.
Moving on . . .
After the baby arrived, my husband took his little family out for fish and chips.
Mmmmm. More food.
I had our newest baby in a snuggly on my chest.
Toasty and comfortable.
Just the top of his little, bald head peeking above the dark green corduroy of the carrier.
My dinner arrived.
I looked at the loaded plate.
Then at my baby.
I could take the carrier off and lay it on the table, I suppose.
But that would take effort. And the food was there, waiting to be devoured.
Hunger decided. I would just eat.
Over the baby.
It was just like being pregnant again.
Sort of.
All went well.
The mushy peas went first. That was easy. I just held the bowl close and spooned.
Then the fresh, deep-fried, perfectly cooked fish.
Mmmm.
And finally, to top everything off, the thick, golden brown chips.
With ketchup.
Paradise.
Dip.
Munch.
Dip.
Munch.
Then, that fateful dip.
Splat.
Right on the top of my baby's bald head.
Oops. What to do?
I could get a wipe and clean it off politely.
Pfff. One swipe of my tongue would take care of it much, much better.
Done.
I happily went back to eating my chips.
That's when I noticed the woman sitting at the next table.
Looking at me.
A frozen expression of horror on her face.
Clucking in disgust, she stood up and marched huffily from the restaurant.
I remember being a trifle embarrassed.
And briefly uncomfortable.
Then I shrugged.
In the days before wipes, Mom used to clean entire faces with mom spit and a Kleenex. I even heard that Mom spit on a Kleenex would get rust off a bumper.I guess it's all a matter of perspective. Hunger and convenience win.

6 comments:

  1. Oh, I love this, Diane - why be freaked out? Mamas all through the animal kingdom do it! Mom spit has magical properties. It's a fact ...oid. Factoid. But I believe it.

    ReplyDelete
  2. That woman's attitude would just have made me laugh. We moms do what we gotta do when we gotta do it, and most of us know it.

    ReplyDelete
  3. I am horrified too. But at putting ketchup on chips. Chips and vinegar yes. Chips and sauce? Shudder.
    I can only assume that woman wasn't a mother, and had never had one. Spit is a very, very useful tool.

    ReplyDelete
  4. I remember hating the mum spit wipe down, I still cringe when thinking of it and I can still feel it. UGH! I never did that to my kids, always carried a damp washcloth in a ziplock bag instead.

    ReplyDelete
  5. I love the photo -and the images your words created. I can just see that huffy woman ... I'm quite sure she never tried to eat while mothering small children!

    ReplyDelete
  6. That is hysterical! I can only imagine what was going through her head! Are you sure you're not really from KY? Mom-spit is like bleach!

    ReplyDelete

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