“Mom, What’s for dinner?”
Me: Salami, Cheese and a F-ing beer.
This is how I feel tonight. But wait, I don’t drink. Or say the F-word. Or have salami. But tonight I wish I did.
I am so over making dinner I could scream. Wait, I am screaming. Dinner is the worst part of mom-ing, the absolute worst. In fact, right now I would rather pick up puke than cook another dinner. Would someone just puke and get me out of making dinner tonight?
I recently found some of my old Franklin planners. Top of the list was “chores” and “make dinner” on every day. Yes–EVERY FREAKING DAY FOR THE PAST 27 YEARS.
There was a time that I actually made an effort. I’d meal plan, think ahead, and make a well-balanced dinner. But then something started happening. My kids started complaining. “I don’t like that” and “I’m not eating this”. Trying to please everyone, I started to become some sort of fast food cook. It was like McDonald’s at my house. “I will make it your way”.
Here is the low-down. Picky kids stole the joy of cooking from me. I soon became the mom who hated to cook because with five kids to feed and a husband who was constantly low-carbing, cooking really became a huge chore. There were three dinners to be made each and every night.
Eggo waffles with peanut butter and syrup became a total life-saver and staple in our house. Don’t like what I’m making? Stick a waffle in the toaster. Easy. Done. Full stomaches and no complaining.
I thought it would get easier now that I have one child left at home. But it hasn’t. I still hate cooking and what is worse, now I suffer with guilt over it. Recently my dinners consist of one item. The main course. I’m not sure if I should be proud of this fact or cry about it.
Regardless, it may have just gotten worse. Tomorrow I am headed to Costco and first on the list is salami, then some cheese, and maybe even that f-ing beer.
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