My daughter turns eleven tomorrow, and another birthday means another school birthday treat. In her case this turns out to be quite the little tradition. My son always picked things like ice cream sandwiches and brownies, bless him. My daughter? It has been fruit kabobs since pre-school. Sometime around second grade I realized I was not going to escape the tedious, potentially dangerous assembly of these eye-popping desserts. In the lower grades it was a big deal to supervise the little wooden rods that could so quickly become swords or what have you. Our track record is a good one. Seven years without injury.
I have long looked forward to the sixth grade, when I would no longer be required to attack and repeatedly stab a wayward watermelon as it slides across my counter. No more skewered hands, or grape juice in the eye. No more backache from standing at my counter for two hours assembling enough treats to feed various teachers, aids and administrators, and my daughter’s classmates. The kabobs have a reputation, you see. People look forward to them, and over the years their audience has grown. This is not because of any particular succulence or peak ripe selection process. In fact, some years, the produce has been downright disappointing in May.
It is because no other mother was dumb enough to start up such a thing. They are the anti-treat. No frosting, no ice cream, no candy or chocolate. Fruit kabobs stand out in the parade of cupcakes like hula dancers at a wake.
So we've kept up the kabobs, year after year. Tonight Mary and I assembled forty-some skewers of fruitalicious birthday love. And next year she will be in middle school where birthday treats are suddenly obsolete and “so elementary school.”
Okay fine. I’m going to miss them. *sob*
I have long looked forward to the sixth grade, when I would no longer be required to attack and repeatedly stab a wayward watermelon as it slides across my counter. No more skewered hands, or grape juice in the eye. No more backache from standing at my counter for two hours assembling enough treats to feed various teachers, aids and administrators, and my daughter’s classmates. The kabobs have a reputation, you see. People look forward to them, and over the years their audience has grown. This is not because of any particular succulence or peak ripe selection process. In fact, some years, the produce has been downright disappointing in May.
It is because no other mother was dumb enough to start up such a thing. They are the anti-treat. No frosting, no ice cream, no candy or chocolate. Fruit kabobs stand out in the parade of cupcakes like hula dancers at a wake.
So we've kept up the kabobs, year after year. Tonight Mary and I assembled forty-some skewers of fruitalicious birthday love. And next year she will be in middle school where birthday treats are suddenly obsolete and “so elementary school.”
Okay fine. I’m going to miss them. *sob*
6 comments:
These things we do with our children are memory makers and I bet she will do them with her children too. I enjoyed this post.
I like your blog. Keep writing.
it's cocao in the original Mayan...
You've inspired me. I'm making fruit kabobs this weekend.
YES - I MISSPELLED IT. I ADMIT IT. Great looking bobs by the way. And do me a favor, make sure I have Hula girls at my wake. And you can come by and make hulabobs at my house any time. We'll start a new tradition with a new name. Mr. Lori can wear the grass skirt.
Lori, what a wonderful tradition! And what a nice blog entry. I particularly liked your line, "Fruit kabobs stand out in the parade of cupcakes like hula dancers at a wake." Quite an image!
DLD
oh don't worry lori. next year it will be you and i standing at the counter as i watch you assemble the fruit kabobs for MY son's birthday treat!
:D
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