There are some things in this world that I refuse to do. I will not spank my child. I will not listen to country/western music. I will not share eating utensils with others. I will not buy another american car. I will not eat reheated leftovers.

Wait a minute… no leftovers? Yes, you heard me right. With almost religious fervor, I have resisted countless overtures to box up, refrigerate, and / or consume leftover food. No matter what someone tells you, it does not taste just as good a day later. It certainly does not taste better. Case in point: reheated macaroni. If macaroni tastes so much better when it is mushy, then why don’t people cook it that way to begin with? Ha! I got you there, didn’t I?

So, what was I doing this afternoon around lunch time? The cabinets were bare and my wallet was as empty as my stomach. There was just one lunch time appropriate item in the fridge… leftover macaroni and spaghetti sauce. Desperate for something to eat other than toast and pickles, I glanced around the room to see if anyone was watching. I pulled the bowl out of the fridge and transferred it to the microwave. Oh, the shame of it all! Two minutes later I was eating reheated macaroni with all the enthusiasm of a survivalist eating bugs in the jungle. Desperate times called for desperate measures. My stomach was full, my palate was left wanting, and one more chink was revealed in my pride’s armor. Toast and pickles anyone?

I was at my doctor’s office for my weekly allergy shot. In front of me, in line to check out, was a mother and her little girl. The woman sitting behind the desk was chatting up the mother, but I have no idea what they were talking about. Normally this would not be terribly interesting, and it still isn’t, but I am going somewhere with this. My spider sense tingled when I heard one of the women say, “she’s starting kindergarten next year.” Presumably it was the mother who said this, but I’m only assuming this based on the clues presented by the setting, not based on who I was paying attention to (no one) or where I was looking (at my shoes). And yes, I did recently watch Spiderman on HBO.

I looked down at the child scurrying below my kneecaps. The first thing I thought was, “Beth is finishing kindergarten.” The next thing I thought was, “my shoe laces are coming loose.” It wasn’t until I drove off, lived through another evening and night at home, and woke up the next morning that I thought of that encounter at the doctor’s office again. I was waking up Beth when it occurred to me that Beth was considerably bigger than that little girl. Now I know that kids come in different sizes, but I wondered if Beth had grown that much since last year. As much as I hate to sound like a cliche, she IS growing fast.