To do a quick recap of the hospital fiasco and the weekend craziness…my mom didn’t have surgery. After a five hour wait, we were told they wanted to run more tests on her. About five hours after that announcement, we left the hospital. No, no one was happy about the wasted time, though we’re all relieved mom wasn’t in a drugged stupor on the drive home (although that might’ve helped ease the griping between her and my sister).
Saturday morning, I checked my work e-mail and lo and behold…I had a request from an agent for a full. Of my first manuscript. Wha-Wha-What?! I only ever had one request for a full for that manuscript and someone (not saying who, but they’re on my agent A-list) wants it? Cue the panic. I spent the rest of the weekend frantically editing with the help of my CP Daisy Harris. I still have some work left to do before I can send it on its merry way, but I feel a little better after having someone else look at it.
So on to the topic of today’s post. My brother moved out a couple of months ago, after he got married. He didn’t go far. No, he lives next door now. Not a big deal really. It isn’t like he’s bringing his laundry to the house or anything, but I have a suspicion he’ll sneak in at midnight for a snack. See, he’s a midnight grazer. You know, the person who wakes up in the middle of the night, goes to the fridge and stares into it as though the mysteries of the universe are waiting to be discovered on the shelves.
When he lived with us, it was a routine for him: go to bed early, wake up about midnight, drink some milk, snack on something, then go back to bed. Now the things he snacked on weren’t “normal” snack foods. No, he likes food food. You know, leftovers. He’ll eat fried chicken, fries, cold Chinese food, whatever is at hand and that’s his snack. Yesterday, my mom made fried shrimp and gumbo. We invited my brother (he wasn’t going to stay away even if we had a restraining order) and his wife to join us for lunch.
About five hours later, I was sitting outside taking a break from editing when I saw my brother trying to covertly sneak over. His aim? You got it! He was after some more shrimp. It wasn’t midnight, but I told him I wouldn’t be surprised to wake up in the middle of the night with him at the kitchen table chowing down. He just laughed because he was thinking it!
Everyone treats our house like their own. My brother, obviously, because he lived at home for so long. It’s second nature for him to come in, go to the fridge and help himself. But he isn’t the only one. My cousin, Jenny, used to raid our fridge every chance she got. If we had homemade soup, she fixed herself a bowl. It’s normal for her to scrounge around our leftovers. My aunt (her mother)? Same thing. They instantly peek in the fridge to see what my mom cooked.
My nephews take it a little further. Their scrounging isn’t limited to the fridge. No, they hit the freezer and all the cabinets looking for food. We don’t begrudge a single one of them food. It’s…well, it’s just normal for us. Even my friends when I was in college would peek in the fridge and then be ashamed of themselves because you just don’t do that in someone else’s house. Unless it’s ours.
Why am I telling y’all this? Well, if you find yourself poking around south Louisiana and happen to be in the neighborhood, you know you’re welcome to make yourself at home. We have leftovers!