Letter to my Children: Apple Pie, Fart Jokes, and Personalized Stationary
/Dearest Beloveds,
We are right around the 40 day mark for your new school. The beautiful 40 day mark where new habits form, transformation occurs, and possibilities beckon. I am pleased to note that the 40 day mark on your ends has been demarcated by two key things in life: apple pie and a really good fart joke.
Dragon made an apple pie during his afternoon time. Carefully he modeled to me with his fingers how he crimped the edges of the dough, oh so carefully, to make a regular wave pattern.
“Momma, I will need to fix the crust before it is baked. It got a bit squished on the way home - but it is really easy. You just put one finger,” he held up his right pointer finger, “between these other two fingers,” the left pointer and middle finger, “and gently push.”
His towering creation came home wrapped carefully in a plastic bag (to prevent leaking) with directions to cook for “about an hour.”
“Momma, there was this really cool tool the teacher had that both cut AND peeled AND sliced the apples really thin.”
“Woah, that sounds amazing.”
“It was.”
“Can I tell you my favorite breakfast of all time when I was a child?”
“Sure!”
“We would have cold apple pie from the night before with a hunk of cheddar cheese. So delicious.”
“Cheese?!”
“Trust me, we will try it this weekend.”
Perhaps we will riff on the amazing punchline that has been bouncing around our house as we eat. Courtesy of Bean, we have a steady refrain of: “My daddy farted and the house blew up!” echoing around.
The joke is not politically correct, it involves gratuitous violence, laughing at other’s misfortune, moronic adults, and logical fallacies.
It is glorious.
It is also glorious to hold both of these gifts from your new school close to my heart as we move Meme from assisted living to memory care - bringing bags of decanted overflow into our house. Overflow that needs to be sorted, organized, and processed - clothing, furniture, books, objects, pictures, and Meme’s stationary.
I have been replenished with beautiful writing paper for probably the next ten years. There are sets of holiday cards, identical valentine’s day cards and birthday cards (with a list of who received what card which year), personalized envelopes with our DC home address raised above the thick cream cardstock, japanese screen prints cards, and even “Wtf” emblazoned on a set of bright pink cards. Rounding out the collection is her full name embossed on tiny “at home” cards not even opened - perhaps they are awaiting the butler’s silver platter from a Jane Austen story.
Meme can no longer write or read.
When we visit she turns to me every few minutes and asks me your names and whether you are a boy or a girl and how old you are.
She has forgotten how to use a spoon.
But I am sure she could still figure out how to eat apple pie with her hands.
