SUNDAY SUPPER IS LOOKING BETTER AND BETTER

I do not cook supper on Sundays.

I know. I'm a shoe-in for Mother of the Year.

My mother didn't cook supper on Sundays. We always had a huge lunch at noon, then we went to my great grandma's house and ate pie and cookies. We kids would drink ice water out of tin cups that became so cold our teeth would hurt. It was great.

And as we were eating our pie and cookies, my mom would say "This is supper kids" And she meant it. Sometimes she'd whip up a batch of pancakes or we'd eat a big bowl of popcorn, but most of the time, when we were old enough, we fended for ourselves on Sunday evenings.

My mother did it that way because her mother did it that way.

That's why I don't cook supper on Sunday.

Because I feel very strongly about continuing such a lovely family tradition.

But, ok, to be completely honest, there are many week nights I don't cook supper, especially in the summer. But it's totally not my fault, because our kids never seem to be around at the same time to eat supper. One has eaten a cheeseburger at the pool at 3:30. One picked up McDonald's after fishing with Cody. One grabbed Chinese at the mall, while one ate an entire box of oatmeal cream pies and couldn't possibly eat another bite (Lord help me) One is running off to a softball game, while one is going to wrestling practice. See? I can't get my family to be in one place at one time, so supper is very difficult right now. Sometimes I put a pot of taco meat on the stove and leave out the makings of taco salad so everyone can eat when they get the chance. Or I might cook a roast and slice it for barbecue sandwiches. Stuff like that. Cooking supper through the week with active teenagers is kind of hard; but I at least pretend to feel bad about it when I don't get it done.

But I absolutely do NOT feel guilty about my NO COOKING ON SUNDAY rule.

Because it's a family tradition.

So yesterday when both kids were gone - Kayla at a youth function for area churches and Blake at wrestling camp - I sat at the bar and ate a bowl of my new favorite cereal - Cranberry Almond Crunch - for supper.

Because when the kids are gone, we like to take advantage of the alone time and keep the flame of romance burning - shake things up a bit.

So I was enjoying my cereal with a glass of skim milk while Paul read the Sunday paper.

And thank goodness I looked in my bowl between bites because otherwise I might have actually eaten that little black furry spider that was sitting amongst the cranberries in my cereal bowl.

THAAAAAT'S RIIIIIIGHT!

There was a spider in my cereal.

And I DO NOT like spiders. Especially in my food. I am an arachnophobe (that is, if arachnophobia means "the fear of spiders." I think it does.)

I jumped up and allowed little bits of food to fall out of my mouth as I said in a breathless, nearly silent scream...

theresaspiderinmycereal!! theresaspiderinmycereal!! theresaspiderinmycereal!!

And I stood there staring at the bowl - um...well....doing Kegels so I wouldn't wet my pants, while at the same time breathing deeply so I wouldn't vomit.

I know.

How coordinated am I?

The thing is I had opened a brand new box to fill the bowl. So I immediately took the nearly full box and threw it in the garbage can. I don't think it had come out of the box, because I had seen a few spiders in the house over the past month or so...(note to self: SPRAY FOR SPIDERS) but I didn't want to take any chances.

*By the way, my head is really itching as I type this post*

And then my husband went straight to the garbage can and pulled the box right back out!!

Are you kidding me?

So I said "DO. NOT. EVEN. THINK. OF. PUTTING. THAT. BOX. BACK. IN. THE. PANTRY."
Because he absolutely hates it when I throw stuff away.

And he said "I'm not. I'm checking to see if there are more spiders in it." And he was incredibly calm. What's with that?

"OK," I said. "But DO. NOT. EVEN. THINK. OF PUTTING. THAT. BOX. BACK. IN. THE. PANTRY." You know? Because perhaps he hadn't noticed that I was about to vomit and wet my pants at the same time; and perhaps he wasn't grasping the gravity of the situation.

Then he took me to Starbucks and bought me a cafe latte.

And now I am sad, because I don't know if I'll ever be able to eat my beloved Cranberry Almond Crunch again. I mean, could you? You know, if you found a furry black spider in your bowl? Oh how I loved my Cranberry Almond Crunch. But not with spiders.

I guess it could have been worse...it could have been half a spider.