All my future blog posts are in my camera. It’s the way I’ve operated lately: see something cool, take a picture, and think, “I’ll blog about that sometime.” I think I’ve got four sets of posts in the camera right now, but in order to post them, I need to have the computer, the camera and the cable in the same place at the same time. Forethought and planning aren’t my strong suit, so instead today we’re writing about tea. (With no illustrations.)
Kiddo#2 has discovered that a “sore throat” will get her gallons of tea. She’ll be happy and chipper from the moment she arises (I think it’s 5:30AM, far too early for me) up until the moment I’m getting breakfast on the table, when suddenly her throat is so sore she must, must, must have hot tea to soothe it.
I’m not sure why she feels tea is reserved for the nearly-dead because I’d give it to her anyhow. But I humor her, and I invite Death to read on the couch while I heat up the mortality-forstalling kettle of hot goodness, and we make tea. Thus defeated, Death leaves (although I’ll note he leaves a bookmark in the book, to keep his place for when he returns the next morning) and Kiddo#2 drinks her tea.
This would be okay until you add my neurosis to Kiddo#2’s neurosis. I have this “thing” about giving people something I wouldn’t want myself, and in this case, it’s Lipton decaf tea. I buy that to make ice tea because at BJs you can pick up 4000 tea bags for $10, or something equally ridiculous. But to drink actual tea, I prefer Tetley, or Earl Grey, or Constant Comment. (No sarcastic remarks about that last. Here, I’ll just make it for you: Wow, Jane, who’d have guessed?) Kiddo#2 always grabs her tea bag from the big yellow box of weak, limp tea.
On one particular day, I looked at the Lipton decaf tea bag, shuddered, and put it back in the box. Instead I got the Constant Comment, and I got one of the pretty cut crystal mugs I **found** at the garbage dump exchange shed (no kidding! A set of four!) and I made her tea. It smelled and looked wonderful. Like tea.
Kiddo#2 tried some. “This tastes awful!”
I said, “What’s wrong?”
She said, “It tastes like flowers and fruit!”
We went back and forth: her saying it was disgusting and me saying but it’s good tea; it’s not awful tea; it’s my favorite tea and I served it in my favorite mug, and each of us putting on a guilt trip to rival the other. You don’t LIKE my tea; you served me DISGUSTING tea.
We were joking, of course. Later she came to me, saying she had drank it. I said, “Did you like it?” and she said, “No. But I liked the mug.”
So now she gets disgusting tea in a lovely mug. And I feel guilty, but not quite as much as before.