My life has been turned upside down because of tortilla soup this week. These are first world problems to be sure. But bear with me here...
Le Dude is laid up with pneunomia. I called his part-time housekeeper Rosalita and asked if she wouldn't mind freshening up the house (I've kinda ignored it whilst he was away) and changing sheets and what not. Rosalita (who would do ANYTHING for Señor David) was devasted to hear that he was ill and offered to not only clean up but grocery shop and make el Dude her famous tortilla soup. Awesome.
We get David home and settled just in time for his mother to show up. (If you missed it, we met her here.) Not a chance was her only boy going to be ill and she not fly in to be by his side. Her "baby" turns 37 next week but, uh - alrighty then. She immediately hustles him out of the bed and into the steam shower so he can "sweat it out" - alrighty. While he's simmering in the shower, she runs out to get him "better" sheets and a new comforter set. Alrighty then.
When she leaves, I head into the bathroom where he is looking mighty cooked on the steam bench. I free him from the human crockpot and get him back in the bed and start hydrating. I'm reading the labels on the meds when Rosalita comes in with her tortilla soup. He took a sip and smiled at her. The minute she left the room, he set the bowl down and announced, "It's not your tortilla soup." He follows that up with the big "I'm sad and I'm sick" eyes and next thing you know I'm in the damn kitchen whipping up tortilla soup.
When the soup is done, his mama is back from Bed, Bath and Beyond. She announces that she had planned to make David her world famous chicken and dumplings soup but he declined. So now I'm getting the side-eye. Did not stop her from sitting on down and getting a bowl of my soup for herself. But I got the side-eye of life. Whatevs. David went to sleep happy.
Next day I get a phone call from Mama David. Those "ragamuffin" boys came by and ate all of David's soup. It's the only thing he wants to eat. Can I give her the recipe? (Her exact words "Since you are the Soup Queen around here, all I can do follow your lead") Alrighty. Now anyone who knows me a little bit knows I don't generally cook from a recipe. I toss ingredients together, season to taste and Viola! She didn't like that answer so I did the best I could, I really did.
That night, I swing by to check in and chaos has ensued. Mama David made the soup but her baby boy scrunched up his nose and announced, "It's not Michele's soup." [Am I the only one giving Dude the side-eye for throwing me under the bus like that?] Mama David wants to know why the food she cooks is no longer good enough for her son. In fact she states, "Girl you're running his whole life, you might as well marry him." Oh. I had to take a moment to remind myself that this is her baby and the youngest of 6. Woo-sah.
Meanwhile, the fellas have come by and they want to know where the Michele Soup is as well. Rosalita has come by and figured out that her soup didn't make the cut. Long story short, everybody is tart and giving me the side-eye when I walk in the door. I put the boys out, sent Rosalita home, sat Mama David down with some wine and checked on David - who was sleeping through the whole shebacle. I made Italian tomato veggie soup and warmed a loaf of bread, chucked the deuces and rolled out.
Mama David has decided to stay another week. I told David I'd see him then. I'm going to make some (small) allowances since the man sounds like he has elephants tap dancing on his chest but er... um... What's to be done about men and their mamas? Nothing but stay out of the way as far as I can tell... BougieLand, any thoughts?