Super Bowl Wins Day
We went out twice today. Once to a frou frou grocery store to buy cookies and an onion. We laughed at the tiny package of $9 nickle size sausage discs and wondered who would buy them. And I guess you have to pay $35 for a half pound of crab legs in this store because they most likely were transported via Frou Frou Air Express and sat in First Class atop the finest ice cubes made from only the best filtered water. The crab legs at the Hy Vee 2.5 miles away arrived on a semi three days ago, driven by a burly man with a Mom tattoo on his bicep so they're probably much more affordable, but hey, we're from Florida. We're not looking to consume seafood in Minnesota.
Our 2nd outing took us to a quaint coffee shop and then a most darling bakery where Nicholas picked out a croissant and a Long John doughnut. I added a baguette for good measure. It looked worthy of the $9 sausage discs but at 16 inches, we'd have run out of the royal hog product with 14 inches of bread to spare.
The day wore on and my attempts to make time slow to a crawl failed miserably.
I don't want this day to end.
Supper was delivered via Door Dash from a place Nicholas chose called Porch Chicken. It was deep fried Southern heaven with a touch of Northern influence by way of something called Curds and a Kale salad with the largest red grapes and chunkiest radishes I've ever seen. I guess Northerners know how to fry just as well as we do. I never gave it much thought until tonight.
Right now his favorite sweatpants are sloshing around in the washing machine because he wants to wear them in the morning. And the morning will be here way too soon and at 5:30 a.m. I'll be signing him over and sitting and waiting and reminding myself to put the other half of his Long John doughnut in the freezer because he won't be back here until next week and he deserves all the sweet things from darling bakeries and frou frou places.
I hear him now, his voice rising and falling over the hum of the refrigerator and the eager whooshing of the rinse cycle. He's talking to his friends and I'm sure they're not discussing what will transpire in a few hours. Or maybe they are. I hope they're telling him jokes and making bets on a game of flag football as soon as he's healed and I hope he gets all the flags when they do and whatever team he's on gets all the touchdowns. I hope his team of doctors spike the ball and do the victory dance at the end of his surgery tomorrow and I hope he wakes up and feels as good as Tom Brady did two nights ago.
Because tomorrow is his Super Bowl. Dr. Dearani is the QB, and I'll be the one on the sidelines taking a knee to pray.
God, please let him win.
Amen.