Tacos

I have a very vivid memory. I'm hoping that this will be a good thing in the future to ward off memory loss but that's beside the point. One memory I have is especially strong and it's completely random. This particular memory encompasses all the senses and for some reason it is one of my favorite ones. What does it involve, you ask? Tacos. Odd? Yes. I agree. But nevertheless, this memory still stands strong in my mind. I remember walking into our old mobile home during the summer. A day when it was blazing hot with zero wind. It was a rare day because this day, my parents gave us a treat of turning on the air conditioner. We didn't get this very often. Air conditioning wasn't a way of life, it was a treat. So I remember walking into the strangely cool house after playing in the 105 degree evening heat to the smell of tacos wafting through the air accompanied by the sizzling of the meat in the skillet. My mom was at the stove and she smiled at me as I walked into the front room to find my brothers and dad lying on the vents and the floor watching Flash Gordon on the TV. I can still smell the tacos, feel the cool artificial air on my skin, and hear the Flash Gordon theme song in my head. I don't know why, but this memory is one of my best ones and I still smile when I think of it. Oddly enough, I can't seem to instill this love of Tacos into my kids. Abby isn't quite appreciative of food...at all. It's cereal or bust with her. But Alex is the culprit to my lack of taco days in our house. I bet you think it's because of his milk allergy and that no cheese equals no tacos and that I'm talking about that particular issue. Nope! Not at all. We use soy cheese with his tacos. Easy cheesy...er...not so cheesy I mean. Here's the problem. Alex actually loved tacos. We ate them about three times and he gobbled them right up. Until that one fateful day (about two years ago) when he just happened to catch a stomach bug the very same day he ate tacos. You know what this means. That night he chucked up the tacos. We all know how horrible just about anything tastes on it's way back up but tacos can be right up there with the worst of things to...um...regurgitate. And now, to this very day, he cries if I mention the word 'tacos'. He says this, "But mom! I can't eat tacos! They'll make me throw up!!"

*sigh*

I guess my good memory will just have to suffice for now. Hopefully he'll outgrow his fear of tacos and eventually unlink the two things. The ironic thing? When I was pregnant with him, the only thing I could eat for the first three months without puking was...you guessed it...tacos.

Just thought I'd share.