Pigging Out

Let me set the scene: Breakfast is served cafeteria style at our annual week long family bible camp in Idyllwild Pines CA. They used to serve it family style on platters but that was, apparently, too easy. My 12 year old is standing first in line, taking no chances on missing out on any possible tasty goodness that will be served. He isn’t interested in quality so much as quantity. A 12 year old boy is never full to the top and spends much of his day seeking, eating and thinking about food. In later years, this morphs into other subjects that cause me to lose sleep, so for now, I am encouraging him in this hobby.

He patiently thanks the servers for what is placed on his tray and the last I see him, he’s sitting with buddies loudly enjoying the start of another fun day. I of course am delighted to be enjoying my own calmer breakfast with real live adults. There’s not a toddler in a clip-on high chair, I’m not eating over the head of an infant strapped to my chest, and I don’t have a kindergartner asleep in a wagon just outside the doorway. Twenty minutes of contented breakfast later, I clear the table and head out of the dining hall.

Full stop.

Let me re-set the scene: a 12 year old boy eats like the wind (in case other competing 12 year old boys are looking sideways at his meal). And then he looks around for more. The cafeteria is happy to hand out seconds, even thirds, until the food runs out. So why am I looking at my son, sitting outside at a picnic table, up to his ecstatic elbows in a massive platter of bacon? His eyes are a little glazed over, a look of bliss on his face. I know I speak for everyone here when I said, “Eeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwww.”

Actually, you and I know that’s not what I said. I said, “How did you get that?” followed by a moment of being impressed with the child’s opportunistic skills, followed by a vague jealousy, followed quickly with my mom instincts: “You are going to be SO SICK.”

“But mom,” says the cherub, grease dripping from his chin, “they were just gonna throw it all away!”

Here is where I need to take a moment. Just last week, I was cleaning the morning kitchen mess and on a large tray was one last chocolate brownie. You know what happened, right? We’re not going to let a brownie come between finishing the kitchen and moving on with the day. Brownies for breakfast without even skipping a beat. Can’t waste it just because it has nowhere to go.

Boom! Kitchen clean. No survivors.

Pork products are near and dear to my family’s heart, and I’m going to assume, yours. We will do the happy dance if ham or sausage or bacon or BBQ pulled pork sliders are on the menu, and we keep it fairly rare for health reasons as it does, literally, get near to our hearts. So I couldn’t really do anything about the bacon bliss breakfast except laugh and hope for the cast iron stomach of a 12 year old to take the punishment that his mouth was sending down.

We should all be so punished.

 

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  1. Pingback: When You Can't Go to the Mountain | The Forgetful Files

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