It was today.
The day they had talked about and planned for weeks.
They had even discussed what they’d wear.
My four daughters had finally made it to the Monday of the Event: The Night they’d all go to Chili’s together and order “The Triple Dipper:”
– A giant, steaming plate of deep-fried, (slightly questionable) goodness,
sure to thicken the arterial walls of any person within a mile of it.
They are relatively new to the Triple Dipper.
They had heard about it from our Cousin Laura, who had come to visit this summer from the
south and had sung its praises, before convincing us to all go as a family so the girls could try it
out.
They failed to take into account that one should be careful when listening to Cousin Laura about
anything, really.
This is the cousin who once convinced one of her younger brothers to go over and pee on
another one of their brothers just for laughs.
Her eyes are perpetually sparkly.
Laura is known for highly suspect plans.
But, try it they did, and now the Chili’s Triple Dipper has risen to cult-like fame among them.
Why is anyone’s guess.
I try to not get offended that the same girls that snub their noses at my five star recipes will
burn rubber to eat it.
I had to smile at the way they talked about it.
You would have thought it was an actual holiday around here.
Two daughters wore brand new sweaters today,
and I am not too sure they didn’t buy them just for this.
The youngest had even come straight from a tooth extraction,
and the thing every other sister asked when I told them they’d have to wait until she got home
from her appointment was,
“But, will she still be able to eat a Triple Dipper after that?”
Leaving the tooth extraction appointment, this youngest child asked if we could stop somewhere
for a snack.
She wanted to “try out eating something small first to make sure she still could,”
so, I drove her through the McDonald’s drive through before her Chili’s Triple Dipper Night like
any good red-blooded American.
Thankfully, the tester fries proved she was good-to-go.
We pulled back into the driveway and she shot the sisters a thumb’s up;
Visible relief was seen on all of them.
At 5:30 they piled into the car, laughing and talking 90 miles an hour, and they were off to live
the life of their dreams: No parents, no supervision, just 8 pounds of breading and a basket of
tortilla chips that was bottomless.When they were gone, I sat at home in the quiet,
smiling and shaking my head, thinking about them doing this.
I thought about my mom saying,
“They went for Triple Dippers together?!” not understanding,
and scrunching up her nose at their plan.
I thought, though, how this is exactly the kind of thing I always dreamed they’d do.
Not the exact meal, really, but something planned between the four of them just for fun and for
the creation of memories that I didn’t have anything to do with.
It didn’t even bother me to know that they were most likely sitting around that table laughing at
my expense as their mom, sharing their supposed war stories about growing up in this home.
That is the price of mothering four personality-rich daughters:
You will definitely be made fun of.
I never had a sister.
I had one brother, and we didn’t hang out much.
I was much too social to settle for doing the types of things he liked, which I surmised was
microwaving burritos after school, and watching M.A.S.H. on the tiny TV in our living room in the
dark.
We were latch-key-kids in a world before the Internet,
and, while he was content to sit quietly at home,
I saw the world as my oyster.
If he just wanted to watch local cable, I guessed I would have to be out exploring, poking things
with sticks, and riding on a banana seat somewhere mysterious, creating adventures on my
own.
I grew up wanting a big family for exactly that reason: Options. Less time alone.
I dreamed of a sisterly connection, someone to do things with, and I thought that,
if I couldn’t have it, well then, maybe one day my own children could.
I dreamed of loud, bustling tables at Thanksgiving with everyone talking over each other,
and passing around the food.
I wanted inside jokes, side-eyes, and a few legendary stories that always get told,
even though everyone’s already heard them.
I remember a counselor asking me once what I thought of most when I pictured my childhood,
and I told her “Brown. The color brown.”
Brown couch, brown decorations, brown shag carpet on the floor,
but inside me there was so much color. Inside me there was so much more.
I like to think it’s because, inside of me, four fun-seeking, hilarious girls were just waiting to be
born.Those Sister Group Chat Chili’s Triple Dipper Nights already existed somewhere small,
cultivated from a patch of grass by an abandoned barn and a banana seat bike once
upon a time in the world that had also waited to become a kingdom, a castle, and a chariot.
Inside of me were four girls who would laugh around a table in their brand-new-for-the-occasion
shirts;
Four girls that didn’t have a night out alone too often, but who, tonight, will talk about doing it
more;
Girls who would use their own money to pay for dinner for once,
except for the youngest one who is down a tooth, but not down in spirit,
because –
Darn it if she hadn’t fought that novocaine and won just for this momentous occasion.
My mom may not understand the desire for a pilgrimage to a Chili’s with just the girls,
but I do.
She may scrunch up her nose,
but I see this particular circle on the calendar as something else –
All a girl like me who dreamed of sisters could ever want:
My girls just love being together, and they are proving that they will make absolutely any excuse to do it.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
