What a slow morning. At one point I was going so slow (and could feel it) that I thought to myself "I feel just like I did running that silly half marathon". That's when I knew it was a slow morning. The funny thing is that when the sun really came up, I could see my shadow as I ran beside the packing plant, and I could make out the craziness that are my quads. I keep thinking that they must belong to someone else.
I sat down this morning to eat with my oldest Kinders class. Arroz con leche. All of a sudden Rodrigo showed me a plastic bag that had a big something wrapped in foil. He announced that his Mom had packed him some burritos. He unwrapped the foil and offered me one. A homemade bean burrito? Thank you very much. And yes, when I say homemade, I mean that tortilla was made by hand. And fresh, too. There are defintely perks to this job.
There was a time, many years ago, when I was wary and cautious of anything homemade outside of Cande's cooking (Cande is our cook at the daycare). I worried about refrigeration. I worried about how old the food was. I worried about cooks not washing hands. And you know what? In the number of years that I've been here, I can count how many times I've been truly sick on one hand. And one of those times I had made my own food.
So yes, I will eat a bean burrito that was prepared in a one room house where the cook may not have washed her hands before she prepared it. I'll eat week-old pasta salad, and food that's been sitting out without a cover on it. And yes, I'll even eat a bologna sandwich made by Maria, who lived in a tiny shack with a dirt floor.
I will not eat pig skin, though. You can't make me do that.