On the surface, I haven’t much to say this week. My nose is worn to a nub from its perpetual position on the grindstone, but when you live with Ben, you find that staying alert for the wisdom he dispenses pays dividends.
A couple weeks ago we had a large group at our house and the conversation devolved into physical ailments. I’ve had two colds this school year. I broke my toe. Someone mentioned the bad allergy season. All of our joints ache. Everything hurts all the time. At a certain point, Cullen added to the litany by telling us that his eye is watering for no apparent reason. Ben didn’t miss a beat. He turned to him and said, “Just rub some peanut butter on it. You’ll be fine.” He tossed it out dismissively, like a family doctor counseling his umpteenth patient through the common cold.
“What?” Said Amy. “Somebody, give that man a government position!”
I, therefore, designate Ben the Secretary of Peanut Butter. Endorse him or don’t. It doesn’t matter. When you are Secretary of Peanut Butter, you call the shots (or the lack of shots – it’s apparently your call).
Ben loves peanut butter unconditionally. He eats it on toast for breakfast. He loves it added to milk and frozen bananas in the blender. He loves it in chicken sate. It is his Eder’s ice cream flavor of choice.
Everyone in the family likes peanut butter, but we stock different kinds to fit everyone’s preferences. Phil likes natural style, chunky. Sophia, though she no longer lives here, prefers natural style, smooth. Ben and I are both smoother than a fresh jar of Skippy. Ben, when he must, can reach across the aisle and eat “Dad’s peanut butter.” I am sorry to say that when I was recently served said peanut butter on vanilla ice cream, I ungraciously did that thing that babies do when they don’t like a new food they are served, and I tried to push it off my tongue with my teeth in an unnecessarily dramatic gesture. Am I ashamed? Sure. Would I do it again if that oily, dry substance infiltrates my dessert again? Probably.
If you would like a blast from the past, review our pandemic-era Peanut Butter Falcon edition linked below.
We’re unlikely to pass a peanut butter resolution that everyone can live with. A pantry cabinet shutdown looms. Until then? Just rub some peanut butter on it. You’ll be fine.