I suppose people might expect me to justify the title of my blog, "The Taco Truck." Well I won't write about tacos now, but I'll tell a short story about my albondigas.
There is a fellow mom named Macy(more about her later) at my son's junior kindergarten class who has cancer. Some of us are bringing meals to her family since it's the least we can do.... Anyway, two weeks ago, my turn came around and I decided to make albondigas. My mother and my grandmother and my great-grandmother have all made this very simple Mexican meatball soup made with meatballs (really?!!), potatoes, carrots and zucchini. The broth is just water and a big spoonful of tomato paste. My aunt Teddy says it is kind of a poor man's "stone soup" sort of thing. Well, I really enjoy it, and it's simple enough to please most everyone. So I delivered the soup and hoped that they wouldn't have to end up ordering out for pizza.
Just the other day I had my head down, signing my son into class, and I felt someone next to me. I looked up and it was Macy (also more later about the emotion of the physical touch from someone who is dying) smiling at me. She told me that they loved my meal, it was perhaps the best one she's received so far, and that it even tasted better the second day. It was a nice compliment that the meal that I put a lot of thought into (and greasy meatball hands) was so well received.
I was driving home, sort of basking in the glory of my domestic acheivement,when it hit me. It was a MEAL. It is the sort of thing that my mother would do: wow everyone with her amazing cooking. Then I was depressed. I was the girl who said in high school that I would never be like my mom. I was going to have a good career -- not stay at home with the kids. Well here I am. Oh well. At least I am writing about it in my blog(!). I don't even think my mom knows what a blog is.