“I am going to eat a regrettable amount of food during the next 24 hours.” -Phil Higa, during any weekend featuring a holiday.
The coordination of events like Mother’s Day brunch always falls on Lynnette. Her parents usually force her to make the reservations. Lynnette doesn’t mind at all, though. Such an event allows her to Google search Mother’s Day brunch menus at restaurants all over the island. I don’t think her selection process is terribly complicated – it’s not like she’s created an algorithm or anything – I think she just looks at menus until her stomach tingles. Then she looks at the price-per-head, and if the number doesn’t stop her stomach from tingling, then that’s it. This year she chose 3660 on the Rise, a restaurant that she and I hadn’t been to in something like eight years. Anyway, This picture isn’t some kind of treasure hunt. Madison made Lynnette a bead necklace at school, and Lynnette wore it to brunch. Sadly, it fell apart as we waited to be seated, sending beads everywhere. I figured it would be more important to document this happening than to help round up beads. Good call, Phil.
Madison and I wandered around the corner of Waialae Avenue and Wilhelmina Rise while waiting to be seated. We got some cool pictures together, including this one of her smelling a flower fronting the restaurant. A few moments later, she got too close to the flower and ended up combing through pollen with her eyelashes. “Can I pull it?” she asked. “What?” I said. “The flower. I would like to have it.” she said. “No, I don’t think so, I think 3660 would frown upon that,” I said. “Frown? They would be sad?” Madison asked. “Yes, that’s exactly it,” I said. So ended the questions. Later in the morning after she and I had finished eating, we extended our journey. Madison has a difficult time at buffets. There’s a point a few minutes after she finishes eating when she gets restless. The signs are clear. She slides off her chair and slowly, but surely attempts to wander around our table. She’ll say things like “I’m going to say ‘hi’ to Mama.” She does say hello to Lynnette’s mom – but she takes the most circuitous route to get there. I saw it starting this morning and asked her if she would like to take a walk. I can’t lie, my attention wanders, too. But more specifically, whenever I eat like I ate today, I feel better (physically only, my self-esteem remains at an ebb) if I walk it off. We made it to a children’s furniture store where Madison was mystified by various bunk beds. “You can’t have a bunk bed if you don’t have a brother or sister,” I said. “Well, you and mom can just get one, already,” she said. Well, if it were that easy, I’d have a shortstop and second baseman by now, Mad. C’mon!
Last night at my parents’ house, I released a theory I had about Lynnette for the first time. When Lynnette and I got together, she was fit and younger, and a disciplined eater. I do remember that. But I think she has always been a fan of food, but had never allowed herself to maximize her eating potential. Not until she was pregnant, at least. “She would often say ‘I’m eating for two,'” and when I would counter, “Yeah, but it’s not two adult humans,” she either didn’t hear me (possible) or ignored me completely (likely). So when I posited this last night, she listened and didn’t reject the theory. Instead, she pointed to Madison and said “She’s a growing girl!” “She was the size of your fist,” I said. “Yeah, but she was growing,” Lynnette countered with her best goat logic. I bring this up because Lynnette was in mid-season form again this morning. Since she chose 3660, she knew exactly what was being offered and didn’t get cheated. Neither did her daughter, who ate lots of bacon, some mashed potatoes, fruit salad, and a bunch of chocolate covered strawberries. It’s a sight to watch them eat side-by-side: the way they dance juuuust a little, their eyes narrow in the same way when they take a bite, and then of course there’s the patented “Hey can you get me more ________________,” or “Here, dad, this _________________ is for you,” (so that I can get more of something else that I like more).
Three generations of crazy! Happy Mother’s Day!