The other day I was bemoaning the fact that I could not buy ice cream because our freezer was too full. (It felt more tragic in the moment than it sounds now that I am typing it, but whatever.)

I rummaged around looking for something to take out to make room for future ice cream when my hand landed upon a grocery store bag with unidentifiable wrapped lumps in it. Upon further examination, I determined them to be tamales that were gifted to us by my brother and sister-in-law last Christmas. Bingo! The perfect ice cream sized item and it made for an easy meal.

Fast forward to today. The tamales are defrosted and we are hungry for lunch. I make a quick salad while Husband heats the tamales in the air fryer. I pop some chips and salsa on the table and we have lunch.

Carter, who is now 17 (!!!), surveys the spread on the table and then gets up and looks in the fridge. He may be almost an adult, but his ability to find anything in the fridge has stagnated and has not yet caught up to his age.

“Mom, where is the chip sauce? You know the free cheese dip stuff we got for buying two bags of chips.”

He is referring to the last time he went shopping with me. We ended up buying several items I don’t normally buy, one of them being queso.

After some directional support, he finds the unopened jar in the pantry. He dishes up a couple small dishes to warm up in the microwave and brings them to the table.

Lunch is eaten. It is good yet uneventful. I eat my last bite and look down as our orange cat, James strolls on up and stops by my chair for some pets. I reach down to pet him and my hand stops short.

“Why does the cat have queso on his back?” I hear myself ask.

It’s as if I am not on summer break, but back in my third grade classroom where such abnormal questions are, well, normal.

The dog walks by. You know what I am thinking, but it doesn’t happen. She doesn’t even notice the cheesed cat. I use a napkin to wipe off the cat and then get a wet paper towel to ensure clean fur.