On Tocino Smells and Gratitude

A few days ago I had a bad bout with the flu. While I am usually a morning person who gets up first in our household, there was one particular morning where I could not move nor open my eyes, I felt so drained and weak. I distantly discerned my husband speaking to me, but all I heard were slurred, unintelligible sounds uttered in painful slow motion and robotic intonation.

I drifted off into a feverish sleep. Soon after, I was woken up by a little girl who shook my shoulders and said quite urgently, “Mom, wake up.”

I squinted. Between slits, I saw an earnest, set little face. Sophie usually is quite chirpy and bubbly in the morning, so something must have been up. I struggled to get up. I forced my eyelids open and looked at her. Her eyes were as wide as saucers.

“Yes, Soph?” I asked.

“Mom, we have a big problem. Huge.” She said dramatically.

I fought the urge to laugh. She really was a drama queen. (I wonder whom she gets it from?)  “What is it this time, Soph? Mom’s sick.” I said sternly.

“Mom, you have to get up now. Our whole house stinks.” She pulled my hand as she said this.

  
My muscles ached but I got up anyway. “What do you mean our house stinks?” I asked groggily. 

Sophie’s voice grew louder. “I mean, Papa cooked tocino and now our whole house smells like TOCINO!”

By this time, we had reached the bottom of the stairs. Our entire first floor was enveloped in thick smoke and a sweet, heavy smell. And yes, the culprit was undeniably tocino.

“What happened in here?” I asked in horror.

Pipo shrugged. “I don’t really know. I think it’s because I just used a little oil.”

We then ate breakfast amid interjections from Sophie that the whole house smelled funny. I rested for the remainder of the morning then summoned the strength to get up again and get dressed. I grabbed my bag and scarf by the door, and left to attend a few meetings.

Throughout the afternoon, I found myself forgetting about the morning’s incident and stopping in my tracks, thinking “What is that strange smell?” I made 360 degree turns around four or five times (in the pedestrian walkway, in the bookstore, on my way to the train, and in the train), trying to trace the source of some funny odor close by. I would then snap back sheepishly, realizing that the smell came from me. I had noticed it too late: my bag and scarf were tainted by the overpowering smell of my husband’s smoky tocino.

After my first 360 degree turn, I felt like strangling my husband (okay maybe not strangling, but giving him a good smack on the arm). On my second turn, I was about to utter an exasperated expletive but suddenly thought to myself – Hey, aren’t I lucky that my wonderful husband, who has hardly ever cooked in his life, willingly cooked breakfast for me and my daughter when I was sick? Aren’t I lucky that even if the whole room was full of smoke, he actually prepared a nice, decent meal? (The tocino wasn’t burned!) And wasn’t I so lucky that he volunteered to do breakfast again the following day, to give me more time to rest and recover? (Sans the smoke, hopefully!)

On my third turn, I smiled and on my fourth turn, I laughed. On my fifth turn, I couldn’t wait to get home and give him a big hug.

Sometimes God spins you around a little bit to make you see things from a different, better perspective. And on that day, once I had gotten over my initial irritation at my reeking of tocino, I was so incredibly grateful for it.

I love you, silly Sophie and even sillier Pipo :-) Advanced Happy Father's Day! Thank you for being a great father to Sophie, and a wonderful husband to me :-)

(In case you were wondering: Next day was corned beef, and he did not smoke up the entire room. And the tocino smell from my bag and scarf eventually faded, Hallelujah!)