Tuesday, October 20, 2009

lesson learned

All of my children possess the ability to chew their food for hours on end without actually swallowing. Gemma, a little less so, but that might be a combination of her actually (sort of) loving most food and me learning my lesson and, after a period of time, saying, "What's in your mouth?" and fishing out the remains. Except that tonight I decided to see just how long she'd chew. Long past the time its flavor life had expired, there she was, chewing the pork from the baby back ribs I made tonight (I was testing a recipe - 1 C lite soy sauce, 1C brown sugar, 1/2 C water, a few whole jalapenos and a couple pounds of ribs - toss to coat, cook on high in a crockpot for 4 hours. The jalapenos don't really add heat, and I wonder how necessary they are, oh, and I added a teaspoon or two of Chinese five spice. No I don't care how much sodium or calories are in there thankyouverymuch) - ribs that were fall-off-the-bone-grandma-can-leave-her-dentures-on-the-side-table tender.

I remembered that I probably needed to change her diaper, so I washed of her hands (still chewing) and face and carried her upstairs. I put wee-G on the changing table and looked over to locate the wipes since suddenly I was very aware that wetness would not be the only passenger in her pants. And that's when I heard it. The sound that is hardly noteworthy under normal circumstances but with a mouth of chewed food...is bone-chilling. From Gemma, it's kind of a Cindy-Lou-Who-coo-of-a-dove sound, but the velocity equals that of her older siblings when it comes to sneezes (when Ainsleigh was younger and sitting in a carseat in back of the driver, said driver would inevitably receive a neck-shower if she sneezed. it was unpleasant).

In slow motion I turned, and I must have said, "Ohhhhh nooooooo!" out loud because Ainsleigh and Donovan came running, yelling, "What happened?!" I found it appropriate that just this morning the kids and I had a discussion about gravity because here was exhibit A: what goes up, must come down. And there Gemma was, speckled with chewed bits of pork. On her shirt. In her nose. CLINGING to her eyelashes. Some was on the wall. Bits everywhere. She did NOT have that much in her mouth, I swear. And yet, it seemed to expand and multiply and mock me as it exited her mouth.

The kids quickly ran away, in the way I wanted to. I just shook my head and began wiping her down (and anything within a 5-foot radius). That's what I get for tempting fate. A shower of pork turds.

But the ribs WERE delicious.


wanda said...

I don't have dentures.

Sarah Burgoyne said...

I read this post yesterday and I want to thank you for putting the phrase "pork turd" in my head... :)