BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl

Ham and the Art of Parenting

5 Comments

Two days ago in the grocery store, teenage son says, “Oh Mommy, can we get a ham?” Yes, he calls me Mommy. Deal with it. “We have ham in the fridge,” I reply, quite sensibly. “No, not ham, A ham. For the pot luck at school on Friday.”

Oh. A ham. Great. He goes to a school where a lot of the kids are on free and reduced lunch. They will bring items to the potluck, but they won’t bring a ham. ham with danielsI know these kids. They are great kids. I want to feed them, and I have the means to provide a ham. “Fine,” I tell him, “but you have to deal with it.”

I don’t have the first clue about what to do with a ham. I grew up in a semi-kosher household and we never had a ham. I have never purchased a ham. I do buy deli ham, though, and bacon has been in my house on more than one occasion, but a ham? Never.

Now it’s Thursday night, and he reminds me of the ham. “When are we going to cook the ham?” he asks. I’m planning on walking out the door in five minutes to go to a class. My finace, who advised him on the finer points of ham cooking, is out cold feeling ill. Um, we?

So the quandry is, do I go to class (it’s the last meeting, and certainly not for a grade or anything, just for fun) and worry all evening about the ham and the possibility of him burning down the house, or at least drying out the ham, or do I stay home and google ham and it’s preparation? Oh this parenting thing, it just never gets old. Next year I hope he signs up for paper plates.

Author: BulgingButtons

I'm a middle aged woman doing the things that middle aged women do and trying not to beat myself up. I'm living the life I choose with the man I love, the grown up son who impresses me all the time, and the most adorable pup ever rescued from the euthanasia list. We live in the heat of the Southwest, where I regularly sweat through my Lane Bryant bras.

5 thoughts on “Ham and the Art of Parenting

  1. So… what did you do???? and I love that he calls you Mommy. My girls call me Mama (which is something I’ve always hoped for and dreamed of) and they call my husband Dada. They’re going to be five soon. My mother corrected them on the dada thing once and I did the unspeakable – I asked her not to do that. “But what if they get teased?” asked the woman who allows them to call her GooGoo. ๐Ÿ™‚ Let it ride. Let it ride, I tell myself.

  2. Two things we certainly have in common: I want all my kids to call me mommy until we are both old and gray. AND I would have no idea what to do with a ham.

    • Thanks for stopping by and commenting. The mommy thing had me worried for about a minute when he was eight or nine, but he owned it and nobody ever said a thing about it to him. Now that he’s 15 it’s just as sweet as when he was 2. ๐Ÿ™‚

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