More than one fork is too much to handle

I am definitely more peasant than princess. I cannot detect subtle notes of...anything. I fidget with multiple forks. My husband sighed, grateful for the privacy of our New Year's Eve igloo, when I carefully re-arranged the crispy onions on my fillet mignon into the shape of a bridled horse head. "Look! It's a fillet filly," I said, rotating my plate so that he could see it better. "I can see it just fine," he told me. 

I am a soup and sandwich girl...as a six-course meal charlatan, my utter ineptitude is revealed before the silver lid is even lifted from the serving tray of every exotically-edible offering. "I wouldn't exactly call cod exotic," my husband corrected as I used one of my five forks as a scalpel to surgically scrape and separate questionable areas. Culinarily-speaking, Brad left, delighted and satisfied with his epicurean adventure. "There's a McDonald's to your left," I mentioned helpfully as we paused for a red light on our drive home.

Little did we know that, a few weeks later, we would attend an even finer dining event...easily surpassing the water-front

fireworks and cozy igloo of our New Year's Eve date.

"Mom," I announced over the phone, "Brad and I are going to pick up a fish fry so that we can eat dinner with you." "O-kay," she answered slowly, mentally adjusting her current menu of Special K with strawberries. "We'll be there in about an hour," I said before hanging up.

Clutching the fish fry-filled environmentally-abusive plastic bag banned by grocery stores everywhere, we were soon knocking on my mother's door. It took me a moment to get my bearings as she had obviously prepared for our visit. Her small kitchen table had been cleared and three place settings now decorated the surface. She had found a paper napkin that was folded carefully, topped with a knife and fork, while utensils also weighed down two similarly folded paper towels. My mother saves EVERY plastic cup that accompanies the twice-a-day arrival of her pills and three of those stood sentinel at each of our place settings. 

Blinking back threatening tears, I forced myself not to look at my husband as I fussed happily about Mom's apartment. This was incredible. My mother's innate need to serve her family outweighed the frustration of not being able to remember that a package of paper napkins was stored in the bottom cabinet. She might not be able to recall that she has a shelf filled with glasses but she certainly knows that she has stored up a week's worth of plastic cups on her counter (Until I sneak the tower away). This was Vee DeLong at her best. 

My mom and husband wrestled over the worst of the seating positions in the cramped corner until my mom reluctantly but graciously let him win. We had dinner as a family. This was incredible.

Now, this obviously isn't the first time that we've shared a meal with my mother. But it was the first time in YEARS that she hosted it. This was the first time that I was back in the guest position...being served by my mother. Shining as she saw to our comfort and enjoyment. Picking up my one fork, I ate the best meal ever...picking up notes of dignity, satisfaction, and pride as my mother smiled, chatting happily away.

We cleared the table so that we could play cards, my mother dismissively waving away our offers to help wash dishes. "It'll give me something to do later," she said, sticking to her well-established script. As we prepared to leave, Brad standing behind me with his arms full of boxes and bags, I hugged my mother good-bye, wishing that I had taken a picture of her set table but knowing that it would have been weird and might have ruined the moment if I had. During my reflective deliberation, my mother was busy scolding Brad, "Don't leave without a hug," she said as he maneuvered his load to make room for her to wrap her small, slender arms around him. This was incredible. I'd definitely give it five stars.