The saga of Jacob’s dinner and other tales from the cottage

Last night, about 8:30, Jacob had come from soccer practice and a mom had picked up the friend who came with him. He burst into the cottage saying, “I need dinner immediately.” I told him he could make a ham and cheese sandwich—the food appealed to him but not the making. I’m on a kick of making him more self-sufficient, so I told him I’d walk him through it.

First obstacle: I keep my bread in the freezer, and now I don’t have a microwave. “I’m not eating frozen bread.” I explained if we left two slices out for about ten minute they’d be fine.

Next we came to cheese. He doesn’t like the Sargento slices that I think are a cut above other prepared cheeses. He wanted Velveeta slices—the ones I get for the dog. I suggested he have a ham sandwich.

He spread mayo on the bread, opened the brand new container of deli ham, and flipped the whole thing onto the floor, where it landed on the mud rug. I’m not wasting a whole pack of ham, so I picked it  up to take off the outer pieces and brush off the dirt.

“I’m not eating it,” as he threw the bread away and stalked off. In the end he made himself a bowl of cereal, but even then he was cautious. “Is it the kind we like?” I wanted to shout, “No, I deliberately bought cereal we don’t like.”

This morning I wakened him for school, went back to bed, and harangued him from there to get up. Fell asleep and when I woke up he was at school. But I had no dog. She didn’t greet me, didn’t come when I called her. I called Christian to see if she was in the house—she wasn’t. I told him he’d have to drive the neighborhood, and I’d put her picture on the neighborhood email. Then, “Wait a minute.” I wheeled around to the corner where her chair is behind my desk and monitor.

There she was, sleeping peacefully. She roused enough to look at me as though asking, “Yes? You wanted something?”

I had a big adventure today—went out to lunch with a friend. So special that I even put on leggings (inside my boot) and put a little makeup on my face. But I worried about leaving Sophie—she hasn’t been alone in the cottage yet. And then we found out what triggers her separation anxiety. When the transport wheel chair came out, she had a meltdown, howling, dancing around, jumping. Fortunately, Socorro was here, so Carol put Sophie in the bathroom, wheeled me down the ramp, and asked Socorro to let her out of the bathroom. When we came home an hour later, she was glad to see us but calm. No damage to the house.

All of this has me thinking I’ll change the name of my blot from Judy’s Stew to Tales from the Cottage. More about that later.