I planned a crock pot meal this weekend. I bought loads of chicken.
I was joyfully anticipated not having to cook for the entire week, just like my friend Jen.
Unfortunately, and yet, not at all surprising, my overly-optimistic plans did not turn out very well.
The first words out of Anastasia's mouth were, "Why is this rice crunchy?"
My husband was quite loyal. "I'm sure it's not Mom's fault, the crockpot messed it up."
I glared at him.
"I really do love it!" he beamed, shoveling in a fork-full, then downing it with an entire glass of Coke.
Isabella tried to make me feel better too. "After a while, your mouth just kind of gets used to it and you don't even notice the taste!"
I hate to think what they would say if they were trying to hurt my feelings. Would anybody like me to send them some chicken and rice casserole! We have lots and lots!
But, I digress from the real story.
The real story is about how we went to the Waffle House (because my cooking is just so great that we needed a break from it). I have been kind of grumpy this past week. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's the cold, dreary weather. Maybe it's because Victoria has decided that sleep is not on her agenda, so I am in torpor (isn't that a cool word!). I just haven't been very appreciative of what I have lately. I've kind of been dreaming of being in Hawaii.
Our waitress at the Waffle House was really special. Busy as she was, she took the time to smile at all her customers, even when they didn't spare her a glance. She was so nice to all my kids. She asked them their names and called them all "sweet babies". She never even gave Francesca's funky forehead a second glance. She brought everyone extra eggs, that she "just happened" not to need. She even stood by while we said our prayer and then boomed out "Amen!!!".
"We gotta give her a huge tip.", I whispered to Travis.
When the waitress brought us our bill, she paused, the check fluttering in her hand above us.
"I just don't feel right about giving you this bill." she said. "I'm going to pay it myself."
I was stunned. I know waitresses at the Waffle House make very little. I'm sure she had her own family to take care of, yet she insisted on paying our bill. We tried to give her a tip and she wouldn't even let us do that. She didn't have much, but she was giving to us, to me, the big whiner. She wasn't complaining that things were tough. No, she was thinking of someone besides herself.
"I just feel led to do this.", she insisted, over and over, as she hugged us good-bye, like a long-lost friend.
I felt so humbled. God was certainly giving me a good kick in the pants. Our sweet waitress sure brought out the sun for me that day.
The girls are going to make her cards and I think I may order a waffle and pay her $30 for it.
Maybe she would like some chicken casserole?