I would like to tell you that, as parents, we never neglect anyone or anything related to our household. Unfortunately, that doesn’t always happen. I often have to remember that everything changes, everything passes. And that includes fruit. In California we are blessed with an incredible variety of home grown fruit. We love fruit. We are members of a CSA. Dessert is often a juicy apricot, a succulent strawberry, or a perfect peach.
But, as with all excesses, too much of a good thing is never a good thing. Every once in a while some of our fruit loses that freshly picked sheen. That extra banana browns. The nectarine becomes a little too squishy. And sometimes the fruit passes that point of no return. You know that point. It’s the moment when the fruit is not only not edible but actually is so “at the end of its lifecycle” that we don’t want to pick it up.
And that’s actually where my story begins. The protagonist in this narrative is a seedless, juicy watermelon. Uncut. Pure. Waiting for love. Except this watermelon was ignored. Soon signs of neglect began to appear. Its bottom grew a little darker green. We figured he was among friends in the fruit bowl though he was probably squishing his plum friends. But the days passed and the watermelon’s color continued to change.
As you may know, Jessica left for New York for several days, leaving me in charge of C and Little L. Fast forward to Friday morning. I had to get up early to dress and feed the children. C woke up first. I met her in the hallway. “C it’s time for breakfast.” “Okay daddy.” C headed to the kitchen. I was 5 feet behind her. C turned the corner into the kitchen and then I heard her scream, “OH MY GOSH! DADDY COME QUICK!” C can be a little overdramatic at times and I thought nothing of it. Until I too turned the corner and beheld the carnage.
There was no note. No cry for help. He did it all by himself. Probably in the middle of the night. And we all knew why it happened. But now I had to clean up the mess. And that’s never pretty, especially when you feel partially responsible.
This post was written by my favorite guest poster, M, who did a stellar job of taking care of the kids and house while I was living the high life in NY. Even if he couldn’t keep the fruit from jumping…