The Memory of an Elephant
We have an annual tradition with our church family the week of Thanksgiving. That week, we always switch our Wednesday night mid-week service to Tuesday night (because so many people travel on Wednesday). We call it Souper Supper, because we all bring a crock pot full of some kind of soup and enjoy a meal together before spending our devotional time talking about the things for which we are thankful. It’s a wonderful time.
Last year, it wasn’t so wonderful for me. I had had the usual day of pleasant chaos at the circus, and I was exhausted after cleaning, making soup, bathing kids, and trying to get everyone out the door on time. Kevin routinely meets us at church for the mid-week service because he never can seem to finish things up at work in time to get home before we would leave to go to church. Thanksgiving week is even worse when it comes to this because he’s preparing to be off for a few days. So, last year on Souper Supper night, things were no different. I had made some Baked Potato Soup, and I loaded it in the van, still hot in the crock pot. I put it in the floor on the passenger side and surrounded it with towels and other things, hoping to stable it. As usual, we left in a rush, but the kids were (also as usual) excited about going to church.
You need to know that to get out of our neighborhood at 6:15 in the evening on a weeknight, you have to pick the most opportune moment and “gun it.” That’s precisely what I did on this not-so-fortuitous evening. At just the right moment, I “gunned it,” and my crock pot of Baked Potato Soup turned on its side. Hot, creamy soup oozed out of the crock pot all over the floorboard of our van. For me, it was just the last straw at the end of a long day. I immediately called Kevin on my cell phone and made for the first possible turn-around. “I’m not coming,” I told him bluntly. “The soup is all over the floorboard of the car, and I have just had it. I don’t want to be anywhere or see anyone. I’m going home. I’ll feed the kids at home and clean up all this goop.”
Riley caught wind of what I was telling Kevin and immediately started howling. “NO, Mommy! We have to go to church! I don’t want to go back! I want to go to church!!!!” She repeated this litany all the way home, even as I repeated, “There’s nothing I can do. The soup spilled. I have to clean it up.”
So, we went back home, and the kids all ate a solemn supper at the table, all a little “ticked off” at me because we weren’t going to church to eat with everyone else.
I told my family this story, and Scott told Mom about a crock pot he’d seen with a lid that latches down and seals the soup inside. Mom and Dad gave me that crock pot for Christmas, and we all laughed again about my horrible misfortune the night of the Souper Supper.
Last night, when it was time to rush off to the Souper Supper, I was prepared. I made Corn and Crab Chowder (though several friends had quipped that they hoped to taste the Baked Potato Soup this year:)) and sealed it up in my new crock pot. About 4:30 in the afternoon, the girls were getting the schedule for the evening all figured out and I explained that we’d be going to church to have soup for supper with everyone else.
Zoe immediately asked, “Where’s Daddy?”
“Well, he’ll meet us at the church building.”
She thought about this for a moment and her little eyes got wide. “Mommy. You need to be very careful with the soup.” I couldn’t believe she remembered the year before. She was only 3 when I spilled all that soup all over the floorboard of my passenger seat.
It was the first of three similar reminders, the last one repeated just before we left as they were buckling into their seats. Of course, this time we were fine. My crock pot with the latched down lid did great, and I even had a handle on the pot that I was able to hold on to for extra protection.
As we pulled into the parking lot at church, Zoe said, “Mommy, I’m SO proud of you!”
“You are?”
“YES! You didn’t spill the soup!”
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