In my family, if you go into a store full of breakable things, it’s a “kabosh” store. If a parent says “kabosh,” you put your hands in your pockets–it means “look, don’t touch.”
In my family, when we go out for frozen yogurt, we say we’re going out for “frozen whopper.”
If your nose is stuffed up from a cold and you’re breathing like Darth Vader, we say that you’re “snoggy.” I only recently realized that snoggy isn’t a word outside my familial lexicon when I dropped it in conversation with my boss–I mentioned that I was feeling much better, thank you, though still a bit snoggy, and she wrinkled her nose and asked, “Still a bit what?”
In my family, when we say grace before a meal, we call it “dee-doos”–even in public places. When Mom and I go out to lunch, she grabs my hands, says “Let’s say dee-doos,” and launches into our family grace: “Thank you for our food and for each other, Amen.” Like that, in one breath. Anyone who’s eaten with our family more than three times knows about this and has our “dee-doos” committed to memory.
For a long time I did not think this odd, our deedoos, and then somewhere around high school I did, and I protested, because I wasn’t into all that God stuff, and then I was into the God stuff but I still protested because I wasn’t sure how sincere a prayer “Thank you for our food and for each other, Amen” could really be when you rattled it off every evening without thinking. At some point, though, I realized that it’s a great prayer, concise, to the point, even if we don’t open with “Heavenly Father” or “Dear Lord,” because we know (and He knows) to whom we are speaking.
We have said this for as long as I can remember, and like “snoggy,” “kabosh” and the word “dee-doos,” I have no idea where it came from, but the more I say it the more I love saying it–the chorus of our voices, the squeeze of hands at the end, the reminder that, yes, the meal is lovely, but so is the company. So:
Thank you for our food, and for each other. Amen.