I’m house-sitting for a friend while her and her family whoop it up on the East Coast for Easter.
Her house is like a second home for us, so my kids feel super comfortable rifling through her drawers and cupboards. It didn’t take them long to find the Nutella.
In an even shorter amount of time they were outside eating bread smeared with generous portions (because I CAN be a Fun Mom every once in a while, dammit) and I was alone with the jar and a large spoon. Let’s just say that me and the Nutella had a moment. As soon as the wonderfulness hit my tongue my eyes rolled into the back of my head and the swear words just started flowing. Like, “Oh My Word, this is SO F***ING GOOD!”
I was halfway through my second spoonful when I froze in panic. Wasn’t there something about a special day? And not eating something? And it was VERY IMPORTANT not to eat it? And was I eating that thing I wasn’t supposed to on this special day? And OH MY GOD…
I was flooded with relief when I realized that the hoopla in my brain was just about not eating meat on Good Friday. And I was totally fine to keep eating the rest, I mean, that spoonful of Nutella.
Indulging in the forbidden and all that swearing and blasphemy reminded me of a post I wrote about Good Friday three years ago, back when I only had one kid instead of two to worry about damning to hell if I slipped up.
Not A Good Day For Shishkabobs
Apr 10, 2009
I don’t think Jesus is going to strike me down for eating meat on Good Friday. But Gilberto’s mom does.
Every year we forget that the Friday before Easter is Good Friday. It just doesn’t cross our minds. So every year Gilberto will call me in a panic after receiving a call from him mom bright and early in the morning.
Gilberto: Laural! We can’t eat meat today! DON’T EAT MEAT!
Me: Gilberto, that’s silly. You know it doesn’t matter if we eat meat today.
Gilberto: Just don’t do it, okay? Better to be on the safe side, you know?
Me: Honey, nothing is going to happen!
Gilberto: OH MY GOD, JUST DON’T EAT THE F***ING MEAT TODAY!
Me: Okay, fine, whatever.
And I don’t. ‘Cause I’m a good wife like that.
This year his mom called while he was driving to work. The calls are actually quite funny. She says hi and wishes him a happy Good Friday, to which he expresses surprise, and she freaks out that he didn’t know and could’ve eaten meat, and he gets upset that he almost damned his soul, and she spends the rest of the conversation making him promise over and over again that he’ll stay true to his roots and not eat meat, and he spends the rest of the conversation promising. And then he immediately calls me.
I got my Good Friday wake-up call at 7:00 this morning.
Gilberto: I can’t eat the lunch you packed for me, it has meat in it!
Me: What? Can’t eat the lunch? Oh, is it Good Friday? Did your mom call?
Gilberto: YES, she called. Or I would’ve eaten it! It would’ve been awful! I could be in hell right now!
Me: It’s not like I tried to poison you! I just forgot! My goodness.
Gilberto: Laural, just promise me that you won’t eat meat. And that includes Gabi.
Gilberto: DON’T YOU DARE FEED MEAT TO MY BABY TODAY!
Me: Okay! Chill out! I wasn’t planning to!
Gilberto: You’ll be sorry if you give her any meat. Just sayin’. Love you, bye.
The warning isn’t without warrant, because the rebel in me is already wanting to do something sinful like roast a pig on a stick on the back patio, or eat a cheeseburger for lunch, just to prove him wrong. But I won’t. Plus, Gabi’s old enough to tell on me.
No meat today.read more