Superbia in the Suburbs

Written by Liz from Three Bright Stars

I'm loath to identify myself with any particular Cardinal Sin. I'm pretty much Condemned, with all sins attaching themselves to me like flamboyant alphabet fridge magnets. I'm atheist. It has to work that way.

However, if you wanted to know which sin best fits me as a mother, it must be Superbia, pride. Isn't that a great new Latin word to add to your vocabulary? I plan to replace "excellent" with it, in the sense of tapping my fingertips together consecutively repeating, "Su-per-bia" as Mr. Burns says "Eg-cellent." To honour it as a sin, I suppose I'll have to fill my heart with the pitch of evil first, and on second thought, that sounds like entirely too much work. (Oh dear, I've just qualified for Acedia, sloth. Sins like fridge magnets.)

Daniel never fails to amaze me, and it does fill me with Superbia. His brain is so big! He is constantly trying new things - new sounds, new combinations, new actions – all on his own. About a week ago, he was drinking water from one of our Tupperware cups with lids and straws, which are pretty leak-proof unless you shake them upside down over your face, which Daniel was doing while Husband was changing him. Of course he soaked himself, but when he realized what had happened, he looked up at Husband and said, "Uh oh," so perfectly.

He's suddenly so good at negotiating stairs that he brings your heart into your mouth, partly from Superbia, and partly fear that you've let him go too soon. At the bottom, he sits on the stairs so nicely, patting it as though to say, "This is the perfect size for a new chair." I broke out the foam toddler chairs, and he practices backing up into them, learning spatial judgement right in front of me.

And I must not omit the continued fastidiousness of replacing fallen petals on the correct flowers, applying my used Breathe Right strip to Husband's nose, putting toys and plastic containers back where they belong, and helping me empty the dishwasher. These actions imply a superb level of intelligence.

So sue me, I'm proud. I'm proud of Daniel, for the tiniest of accomplishments, of Husband, for working so hard and being such a great dad, and of myself, for (apparently) doing a good job as a mom.

Surely, I'm misinterpreting the sin, but really, what did you expect from a heathen? I would offer to eat humble pie, but then I couldn’t help exclaiming, “I make the best humble pie!” Not humble, Liz. Try again.


Liz will include a recipe for the Best Humble Pie, which her family can’t get enough of, on her Monday Cooking Blog at Three Bright Stars.