I'm Forgiven, thanks to Lime Sour Cream

Dear Joey,

I know your secret. You can't hide it, you know.

Sometimes, you get a little .... frustrated with me.

You don't like to admit it, I don't think. It seems that you pretty much take my quirks in stride, opting to make light of my shortcomings in a light-hearted, loving manner. But sometimes - especially when you're tired or hungry or already irritated - you get frustrated with me. Sometimes there are things I do that make you crazy, and in these moments can I see you stewing inside, wanting to pull out your hair or walk the other way or shout in frustration - but you don't. You hold your tongue and temper your feelings so that you can calmly deal with the results of a mood swing or hair-brained idea or bad choice I have made. You give me lots of grace, and for that I am thankful.

Like the other day when I dragged you out to Toys R Us before dinner. You came home hungry that night, tired from a week's worth of surgeries and patients and paperwork, ready to start the weekend. Instead of welcoming you home to a relaxing, let's-get-this-weekend-started-right sort of atmosphere, I jumped into high gear and listed all the things we needed to get accomplished that night. With a birthday party just a few days away, I was starting to panic because of all the things that were left to do:  presents to pick up and party favors to find and banners to assemble and cakes to bake and and and. 

Into the car we went, dropping the girls off with their grandparents for an hour or so while we got a few things done, but before I let you pull out of the driveway, I proceeded to give you one of my overly detailed explanations for my thought process that day, walking you through every factor that impacted each minor decision I made. You waited, as patiently as you could, for me to get to the point, and once I got there, you didn't really say much as you finally started to drive, listening to the Giants game as you did so.

A few minutes of semi-silence later, I asked if I had upset you. You said that I had not; you had just needed to know what to do so you could do it, and you were just waiting for me to get to the point.

We drove along, and while you listened to the game, I tuned it out, opting instead to over-analyze everything that we had just said to each other: what I said, why I said it, and how you responded.

I realized that even though my long-winded explanation frustrated you, you took it in stride, knowing that this was one of my quirks, and just waited as patiently as you could for me to get to the point. As you did so, you were telling me something I need to remember in moment like that one: Save the chatter - just get to the point. You don't need to defend yourself to me; just tell me what I need to do. If I want to know the backstory or extra details, I'll ask. It's not because you don't care about what I have to say, or think it's unimportant or boring even - it's because you trust my decision making, you believe that I have good reasons for doing what I do, and all you really want to know is what I need you to do.

A few short stops later and we found ourselves finally talking about dinner as we made our way back to pick up the girls. In a moment of weakness (or sheer starvation) you actually suggested we grab something from a drive through. I countered with an idea for quick bean burritos at home, to which you seemed a little indifferent. When I mentioned that we could top them with lime sour cream sauce, your face lit up and you asked if we had shredded cabbage.

I knew I was forgiven my long-windedness and my wild-goose-chase of an evening right then.

Love, Scratch

Lime Sour Cream
We love sour cream at our house, but adding lime zest and juice to it makes it even more awesome. There are about a million ways you could make this sauce, but this is our favorite because it is incredibly simple. We love it on fish tacos, but it dresses up an otherwise ordinary bean burrito, too (especially if you add shredded cabbage and hot sauce).  






Ingredients:
16 oz. sour cream
4 large limes, zested and juiced
1/8-1/4 tsp kosher salt (or any kind of salt really, to taste)

Method:
Start by scooping out the sour cream into a big mixing bowl. Next, wash and zest the limes over the bowl; then cut them in half and juice. Add the juice to the sour cream, along with the salt, and stir to combine.