Like she does most nights, my mom makes us dinner in between smothering and doting on the boy.

Yeah, it’s pretty awesome. [Disclaimer: my mom’s awesome but trust me, our arrangement “costs” me my sanity 😉 ]

But anywho… before I left for work yesterday, I took something out of the freezer to be defrosted.
(I never assume mom will make us dinner. She does it, whether I like it or not.)

She calls me at work yesterday to say, “What’s dis you deprosting?”
“UM. You bought it, mom. But based on the size, I guess it’s pork?”
“oh. I bought it? I don’t remember.”

It ended up being pork, just like I guessed.
And because she’s terrified of our gas oven, (she’s used to electric) we had some very healthy pan-fried pork chops.
The chops were paired with Pork Fried Rice, the Filipino culinary equivilent to American Mac and Cheese.
Fried deliciousness.

Like we do every night, I hand the baby off to Jeff when I go to prepare our plates in the kitchen.
Unlike my family, even though almost 12 years deep into our relationship, Jeff doesn’t consider rice its own food group.

I shoveled less rice onto his plate but realized that this is Fried Rice. Fried? Oh, it’s a whole new ball game.
I poked my head around the corner and asked, “hey, you want Fried Rice, right? Should I give you a small portion or Jeff-sized portion?”
“FRIED RICE? definitely! As if you had to ask. Ha!”

He continued but directed his diatribe to the baby,
“FRIED SHOE? I’m in! Mommy should know better by now.”

Silly me.