Little Yellow Bowl My little yellow bowl broke today, its handle finally succumbing to 34 years of regular use and hot dishwashers. It’s not much of a bowl. Plastic, part of a set long gone. And I was surprised at the rush of emotion I felt. You see, my mother-in-law gave me that bowl. She gave me the whole set as part of a large box of utensils and bowls and dishcloths and other kitchen things her son and I would need as we set up our first home together. While many may not see that as such a big deal, it was. I was most decidedly not her choice for her son. And yet, she still did this thoughtful thing. I use that bowl for nearly everything. It has a little spout, making it perfect for pouring pancake batter on a hot griddle or cake mix into cupcake tins. And every time I used it over the years, I thought about her. The rest of the contents of that box are mostly long gone. But the little yellow bowl hung in there, for 34 years. My mother-in-law and I had what can ta...
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Armed with a state-issued driver’s handbook and the requisite number of road hours, classroom hours, and practice hours, these pre-adults who just moments ago thought mom and dad could leap tall buildings, scare away monsters and heal all wounds with a kiss, suddenly begin critiquing our abilities behind the wheel.
“That wasn’t a complete stop, according to my teacher,” she says. “I’m pretty sure the speed limit is 30, not 32, Mom.”
The evaluations often end when the clever parent returns the favor on any one of the many car trips when this same child has begged to drive. She begins to understand the lack of joy involved with a backseat driver in tow.
But every now and then, the child has me dead to rights. Like last weekend, on our trip to Salt Lake City.
“You didn’t use your blinkers, Mom,” she points out, frequently. “The other drivers don’t know what you’re going to do.”
I shoot her one of those “don’t mess with mom” looks. Darn it. She’s too grown for it to work anymore.
And then she hits her pastor/mom with the clincher. She starts quoting scripture.
“Even God says you have to use your blinkers. It’s in the Bible,” she says.
“Prove it!” I retort.
“In Romans, it says, ‘How will they know if no one tells them?’”
She’s won. So now, I blink.