Posted By Debra Shiveley Welch

Okay, I’m guilty as charged.  I must admit that I have this bad habit of getting into my writing, forgetting to eat, and remembering only when my stomach begins to collapse in on itself.

Driven by hunger pains, I begin a frantic search for a quick snack and, inevitably, fall upon my favorite: peanut butter stuffed celery.  However, there is one problem.  The name of the snack is backward.

Salivating and eager to appease my sustenance-starved body, I stuff the celery into the peanut butter.  Again and again, I plunge a crisp, green rib into the thick, savory, organic spread.  Slowly, my hunger abates and I am once again free to pursue my passion – writing.

My son enters the kitchen and reaches for the same treat.  I feel myself slowly shrink into my chair.  I know what is about to happen.

Hungry, his 16-year-old body craving protein, he grasps the jar and carries it to the counter.  Retrieving bread and raspberry jelly, he quickly constructs his peanut butter sandwich.

I have now become half my size as I await the inevitable.  Chris lifts the sandwich, raises it to his lips and takes a big bite.  It takes a few seconds as tongue and palate work together to extract the flavors from his concoction.  He pauses, turns to me and exclaims, “Mom!  The peanut butter tastes like celery!”

Caught again.


 

 

 
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2010