"I've been thinking about the things I didn't teach you when you were younger," my mother divulged during a car ride last month. Gulp. A million awkward topics flashed through my mind. It was, after all, too late for that conversation, right? To my great relief, she followed up with,"I never taught you anything about running a household and I was wondering if you wanted me to help you with meal planning." How cute is that?
Pretty darn cute and also sort of funny, given that I was fairly certain I had the capacity to meal plan, I mean I went to college and stuff. So I thanked her and said I was perfectly capable of doing it, I just didn't feel like it. But the topic stayed on my mind because I knew it would make my life easier . . .
Today marks the end of three straight weeks of planning meals on Sundays, shopping ahead and following a set schedule of dinners. I even prepared meals in the mornings while the baby napped, in fact, I got a little compulsive about working on dinner during any spare second when I found myself with two available hands. The result being that every waking moment was devoted to obsessing about the next meal. Which is to say that the experiment was a great success in the dinner department but a gigantic failure when it came to my mental health. Something about devoting my entire existence to getting dinner on the table put me in a really, really bad mood.
I happened to mention to my mother yesterday that meal planning had sucked my will to live, with the hope that she could suggest a cure for my ennui de cuisine. "Well, of course it did," she said, with practiced nonchalance.
Takeout: cheaper than therapy and a whole lot tastier.
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2 comments:
I love this post! Hilarious! I totally agree!
that's funny. i often feel the same as well. i've started doing a dinner exchange with a neighbor, which has been great but also sometimes causes even more angst when i'm thinking about what to cook for all eight of us.
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