Everyone who needs someone to watch their kids for a few hours, after school, or even for a day, knows they can call on me. "You know Cora just loves kids and doesn't mind them bringing mud into her kitchen, picking her flowers for "bookays" or eating all the cookies she just baked for the church bake sale." I'm smiling, folks, because even though they do these things, I do love them and enjoy having them around. I had four youngins of my own and now I have grandchildren to babysit and spoil.
The only time I draw the line on letting the kids into my life is when Leonard wants me to accompany him and the band on one of their gigs, or I just need some time to myself. Otherwise, this house is full of laughter, poutin', sometimes a few tantrums and, now and then, one or two of them sittin' in a corner for time out. I thought I'd give you a little background so you'd understand how I got roped into agreein' to allow Bethy Rose and my granddaughters talk me into lettin' them have a slumber party at our house the night before the End of the School Picnic. And for promisin' to help them cook up a bunch of food for the event. I think I have lost my mind or, as Lutie Mae Lucus would tell me I got "teched" in the head for a moment or two.
For those who didn't grow up in Texas (or the South), you probably don't know a thing about these picnics we have to celebrate the end of school. I don't know who came up with the idea but I have a thought that it was the male men in small towns who missed bein' baseball jocks and wanted to have their old dreams come true by playin' the high school baseball team once a year. They had to have a reason to call these games so they suggested all the women bring their tastiest dishes for a big picnic before the game of the year.
It's become one more of those things the town always shares. I don't anyone who would miss it. It keeps us connected. Sometimes it serves as a school reunion; those who moved away come back for the event in order to catch up with all their former classmates--and many times to do a little braggin' about their successes and to show off their families. That doesn't bother the ones who never left. They know it's a wonderful place to live, raise children, play, attend church--even if they have to drive twenty to thirty miles one way to a job.
Bethy Rose just showed up with one of MM's cookbooks. I hear her talkin' to the other girls about fried chicken and macaroni salad--that'll be easy for them. They've been hangin' around the kitchen with me and MM for a couple of years and are pretty good cooks of simple foods. No matter what they cook up, there will be so much food those tables lined up end to end will be groanin'.
What's that dessert she's talkin' about? Key Lime Meringue Pie? Doesn't she mean lemon? No, there she's repeated it again. She's explainin' it's a special pie made with limes from that Key West place. Does she think we're goin' to Florida to get the main ingredient for a podunk picnic?
I should have known this wasn't gonna be easy. And I thought agreein' to a slumber party was gonna be the biggest headache.
Help, Mary Margaret!
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