He might starve

You would think with the unlimited meal plan at the University of Tennessee that additional foodstuffs would not be necessary. But you would be wrong.

“Majah,” which Noah has started calling me because he is immersed in his Russian studies, “can we go to Costco for some snacks to take back to school?” Snacks. Like can’t you just get some of that room temperature cheese and sausage stuff at the convenience store? We need cases of snacks? Your dorm room is the size of a  pet crate. Where are you going to put cases of snacks?

We go to Costco. A 24-pack of ramen noodles in Styrofoam cups. Three giant bags of chips. A case of microwaveable ravioli, Sun Chips by the gross. This does not count the 48-bag box of sausage biscuits, the hummus and the nan bread he wants that Costco does not stock. It will be a busy weekend provisioning the boy for the frontier of Knoxville.

“Can I have a Polish dog? son of Majah asks. Of course, my little babushka. You can see Russia from the Polish dog counter. A few minutes later, we exit Costco. The Bank, which is Majah, is $167 poorer, not counting the Polish dog.

But that is not all. That is simply the convenience food son of Majah needs for the harsh Siberian winter of East Tennessee. There are also the home-made provisions requested: roast pork loin, pasta with peas and prosciutto, tuna salad, potato salad, pig candy and sausage balls.

I realize I am the enabler here. Catherine the Great Enabler. I could pack him off with a jar of Cheez Whiz and be done with it. But I am Majah. Queen of the Styrofoam cooler. Where is my damn crown? I’ve left it somewhere in the chips aisle at Costco.