Recently, I have discovered Zeldie loves bananas. When she hears the snap and tear of the peel which sends the odorous scent of the fruit wafting through the air she propels herself almost involuntarily to my feet. Now, I am a sucker for hungry or hungry-apparent beings. No man, child, dog or dust mite may go unfed in my house. This is a reflex I can not control. It was carefully cultivated by my mother who modeled the art of feeding the hungry to me as the purpose and fulfillment of being a woman. I still remember when I was a teenager and one of my girlfriends came over. As she walked in the house, my mom asked her, "Would you like something to eat?" Having normal and appropriate hunger signals and cues as well as a healthy understanding of diet and nutrition, my friend responded, "No thanks, I'm not hungry." To which my mom replied, "I didn't ask you if you were hungry." David finds this amusing to no end. The first time he met my mother, we went to her house for lunch. Lunch is an understatement. It was a veritable feast. When we were done eating, it looked as if we had not touched a plate on the table. As we were leaving, he whispered to me, "Who did she think she was cooking for?" It was, perhaps, the first time, I was in touch with an awareness that the volume of food on my mother's table was not in proportion to the number of people at the table. It had never been any different in my house. As a teenager, my mother helped make dinner for her family. She had two younger brothers. My mother is still cooking for those teenage boys. And therefore, so do I. When David and I first started dating, we had some friends over for dinner. I made pizza. Everyone ate. Everyone had second helpings. At the end of the meal, after everyone had pushed back from the table, bellies rounded and extended, I examined the two pieces of pizza left on the plate as I carried it back into the kitchen. In an anxious hush, I whispered to David, "I didn't make enough." At the time, I don't think he fully understood that this compelling concern actually bordered on a disorder. Now, time having passed, he has a fuller picture of just how completely I am moved by hunger. This was more fully illustrated to him when we watched The Blind Side. While this is an incredibly inspirational film and story, it is also profoundly sad. But, what moved me to tears was not that he had been abandoned by his mother, not that he was homeless, not even that he was walking in the freezing rain in his t-shirt. What moved me to fretful, unabashedly sobbing was when he ate the discarded concessions after everyone else left the basketball game. What moved me was that he was hungry. With this insight, David now has a better handle on how to manage me. It involves a very assertive, if not forceful, posture on quantity. Especially at the grocery store, where he frequently has to talk me off the ledge after he has put back items I have taken off the shelf. He artfully and sincerely attempts to reassure me that we will have plenty without buying double. Though I am suspicious he has grossly miscalculated our needs, I have learned to trust him. He has plenty of convincing hard evidence by way of previous examples when I have over indulged to support his case. If I make a fuss, he begins to recite the list. Even more so, when we are expecting company for dinner and the list of dishes I am planning grows exponentially in proportion to the amount of time I have prior to the event. In these cases, he listens patiently, smiles gently, and asks a thoughtful reflective question to prompt me to realize I have once again succumbed to my inner hunger demon. For the most part, these strategies work.
Except when it comes to Zeldie. Each of us spoils Zeldie in our own way. For me, it will always be indulging her every sniff with a sensory treat for her palette. Zeldie has discovered this weakness and much to her own credit, will blatantly exploit it for her benefit, rushing to my side seemingly desperately hungry and pitiful when she clearly is neither. To which I will respond appropriately and predictably by cutting my banana into slices and putting it in her bowl. Or, feeding her chunks by hand right where I am standing. David has discovered I am hopeless in this way. He has moved beyond scolding me for giving her too many treats to scolding me for pampering her in the way in which I give her the treats. Though, for the most part it I do not hear it. Reasoning and logic do not apply when seeing her eat her treat momentarily quells the ache in my heart for the hungry or hungry-apparent. Perhaps in that way, it spoils me as well.
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