Since I can’t cook or otherwise fend for myself and child, and my husband, lord, and protector had a business trip, my mother has come to help. Like an angel. Sent from heaven. Just like my great-grandmother used to say. (Actually, my great-grandmother used to say I was an angel straight from heaven, just like my mother. She would say this with a straight face and complete sincerity when I was 15-16 years old.)
From the airport we headed to Thai House Express. I had my favorite silver noodle salad, my mom ordered green curry with chicken, and Ernie got “what Daddy gets”–pan-fried noodles with vegetables and tofu. He ate about half of it before putting his head in my lap.
A few minutes later he broke into tears, distraught that his mother and grandmother had “eaten all my noodles!”
Indeed, we had. We had eaten the remainder of the poor starving child’s dinner. Almost. He got a few more bites and was only comforted with the explanation that his dish was the best and we couldn’t resist its deliciousness.
Do angels sent from heaven eat their child’s (and grandchild’s!) dinners?
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