Wingnut FM2 Viper's blog: "The Wingnut said--What?"

My Momma was the best cook in Alamogordo, New Mexico. I’m not just sayin’ that. I’m saying we always took extra to every potluck regardless of who was going or how many people were gonna be there. Unless we got there so late that everyone had already stuff themselves (like that ever happened if they knew Momma was bringing something), we took home empty stuff. I got to enjoy nary a bite of those scrumptious leftovers because there were no leftovers to be scrumptious so I could enjoy them. That just isn’t fair, you know. The doctor’s family gets the worst medical care and the dentist has no teeth. Ok, that may be fine for them, but I gotta eat too! After all, I was a growin’ kid. My momma even said so.

“You are growing just like a little weed!” she would say.

My mother invented new ways to enjoy your broccoli, carrots, beans, or whatever it might be. Not only did you enjoy eating them, if it was a potluck, you would enjoy looking at them as you approached the table. Momma’s potluck dishes were works of visual and gastronomic art. Masterpieces even. That was my Momma. A real good cook!

So now this one day, we had some big potluck to attend. This potluck was so big Momma had to make THREE big scrumptious pumpkin pies. And the shindig was so bloomin’ important that she had to make them way in advance because she was also sewing something up to wear to it. That meant this thing was a super important place.

So there I was with nothing to do. Even as a child—okay, especially as a child—I needed to always have something to do. Don’t let me be sittin’ alone in a kitchen with those adorable picture perfect looking pies...

Oh look! There is something sticking up out of the filling in this one. That little spot does not belong there at all. It distracted my eyes from the rest of the pie and certainly did not look uniform. More and more, that one spot drew my eye to  gaze upon it until I decided I could just fix that little spot.

Oops.

Missed. Well I just smoothed that along the crust.

Oops, that didn’t work either.

I continued to create a cute little pattern around the pie. It fixed the spot just perfect and made a nice little border to accent Momma’s perfectly pinched pie crust around the edge. Hmmm. Something was still missing. Besides, it did taste real good. After all, Momma was a very good cook. I added the final touch. Now my taste buds were really dancing and my tummy was just starting to feel a little satiated. Plus the pie was real happy now. Walmart bags had nothing on my PIE ART!

I went off to play somewhere with something truly important, like oh, making sure all my dolls were properly dressed and seated for their little dinner party with smiley face pumpkin pies. Nice and neat they were with their faces all wiped nice and tidy. In my own little world I was happy until—

“Wandah-ah-ah-ah-ah--------!”

Ut Oh…

Little Wanda with a pale NON-smiley faced expression headed back to the kitchen. There stood Momma, red faced mad with such exasperation as you can only imagine if you were to be a Momma to a sweet little kid like me. I really was good most of the time, you know. Honest. I was. When I wasn’t looking at Momma’s pumpkin pies.

The look on my face told my mother all she needed to know. No need to have a jury with 12 of my kiddling peers determine my guilt or innocence because it was written all over my face. I’m sure my face turned American red and white in turn.

No my mother was a very patient mother. It truly broke her heart to spank me. It made her cry, not crocodile tears that parents cry to make their sons feel guilty for doing such stupid stuff that son’s do. To this day, I believe my mother really wanted to believe that I would get the point before she had to spank me. I never did. I pushed her until she lost it. But then at times like this, there needed to be no more patience. She just led me straight to the spanking room and took care of business until my little tushy was beat red on the bottom to match my red face.

I don’t remember anything about the potluck that night. I don’t remember where it was or why Momma prepared so many pies. I do know that she was one pie short and I was too sore to enjoy anything for the rest of the day.

Forty years and four kids later I have learned that some things can’t be taught with simple words. I have also learned that my mother was much more patient to me than I ever could be to my own children. I thank her for it. Momma, if you are watching, I thank you for teaching me the true value of a Pumpkin Pie Smiely face.