January 17, 2008

The Test


R passed his big test yesterday! Hallelujah! I never did doubt that he'd pass, but it's good to have that little stress ended. We took the kids out for a celebration dinner at India Palace (Oh, how I'm going to miss India Palace when we move). I started taking Sweet Potato there when she was just tiny and liked to sit next to the shiny, hanging beads, so she could rattle and swing them, and make an all-around ruckus. Now she loves to hear that story over and over.

It was a quiet dinner because Obo had a terrible headache, which he thought would be much improved with a Coke, and he made big pouty lips when I wouldn't let him have one. We were all hungry and grumpy by the time we got there, except for Buckaroo who sat in his high chair happily clanging his spoon, and then chomping on spicy carrots and samosa stuffing.
R and I thought we'd liven up the conversation by announcing that we're planning a trip to Santa Cruz on a weekend when the weather is sunny. Santa Cruz is on my list (at least in my head) of places to see before leaving California, and we wanted to reward the kids for their hard school work. Unfortunately, when R said we had an announcement, Sweet Potato thought we were going to announce that we were putting them up for adoption, and Obo thought we were going to announce that we're going to Disneyland. It kind of took the umph out of it.

Obo said, "They can't put us up for adoption. We both have other parents."

And Sweet Potato said, "What about Buckaroo?"

We all looked down the table at Buckaroo clapping his samosa potatoes between his hands.

"Nobody is going up for adoption!" R said.


Meanwhile, I watched the waiter and waitress come and go, filling our glasses with water. They've been working at India Palace since my friend Toni first took me there for the lunch buffet. I'd never eaten Indian food before, and I couldn't get enough of it. For the last ten years, the wait staff have seen me in there with different hairstyles, different friends, dates. They explained to my dad, on one of his rare visits to California, what was in the tandoori chicken. They were there for my big birthday bash the year I promised myself would be the best yet, and it was. They've seen Sweet Potato growing up, and they've seen her come in separately with her dad. They've seen me pregapotamus, and now they've seen Obo and Buckaroo, too. I don't even know their names. But one day I was at the grocery store, and the waiter was behind me in line buying gallons and gallons of milk. The clerk asked him, "What are you buying all that milk for?" The waiter pointed at me, and said, "Ask her. She knows."

I'm going to find out their names before we leave for The Woods. That's on my list now, too.

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