On Monday I warmed up leftovers for dinner: two bowls of Chinese food, smoked chicken, vegetables, fried potatoes, and more. It was a varied and impressive sight, but we ended up running to McDonalds for some cheeseburgers when the boys were still hungry.
The next day, I cooked for hours: my best soup, a favorite sausage dish, colorful spinach salad with fresh strawberries, and homemade chocolate chip bar cookies. Tim walked in and asked, “What’s wrong?” (Has someone died?) The boys had a dentist appointment and came home with instructions not to drink hot liquids. So, this was another dinner fail for the boys and they didn’t eat my masterpiece.
Wednesday I threw a homemade quiche in the oven as I raced out the door to a parent meeting for Frisbee and a family history class. I was gone for four hours and by the look of the leftovers, I don’t think this meal was a hit, either.
Tonight I went for the tried and true spaghetti. Mark and I didn’t finish because by the time we were all home together to eat, we had to go to piano lessons.
They were lovely meals for those who could eat them.
I just looked through my last few posts and I want you to know I am not sad. I have arrived at some understanding and wrote it out. When I am not writing serious posts, I am dancing in the kitchen, chuckling at James Herriott stories, eating lemon bars, and drinking in the sunlight.