I hate dinnertime!
It’s official, I hate dinnertime! I know that this is a strong word, but it’s a strong sentiment and I feel it in the depths of my being.
I do not enjoy finding a recipe, then scouring my pantry to find somewhat similar ingredients to add to the recipe I have found. In my world, most things I decide to cook require a trip to the grocery store (which is something else I hate). Fortunately the internet has been my salvation many times as I can just keep searching until I find a pitiful recipe that does not include 3-5 ingredients that no real-life working mother has already stocked on the shelves. I’m not good at throwing things together and having them come out tasty – apparently that gene skipped my generation.
Then there’s the actual prep time. I just don’t have that kind of time. Even “make-ahead, put in the crockpot, this is so easy” recipes require a time investment. It’d be different if I enjoyed spending my time that way, but I simply don’t. I feel it is a waste of my time to watch cooking shows on TV, much less actually chop and slice in my always-messy, some dried juice is always going to stick to the bottom of the mixing bowl kitchen. And today is Saturday, the only day of the week when I do have a tiny amount of time.
Then the feeding of the troups commences. Everyone reluctantly gathers around the table as I pry them all from their various activities. Then the whining starts. “I don’t like this”. “What’s that horrible smell?” “I’m hungry, but I can’t eat this stuff” are some of my favorite quotes, but the very best is this one “You know I never like anything you ever cook. Why can’t I just eat a bowl of chips? Are you trying to kill me?” (actual quote from this very night!)
Once the pain is over, and the threats are tired, they all rush back to their little spots in the house, leaving me with a screaming baby because he has discovered the brownies on the counter and has deemed all other food inedible and a kitchen FULL of dirty mixing bowls, pots, plates and corn droppings. I suppose it’s my fault that I haven’t trained my children better. Brad does help out after dinner often and for that I am very appreciative. And he has rarely complained to me about not cooking much or dinner in general. He is a saint of a man who eats Burger King and PB&J on more nights than I care to admit.
I love him for that, but mostly tonight I’m just sad. Sad that I hate dinnertime so much and that it always gets the best of me. Sad that we do not have a Family Table worth eating at. Sad that I’m typing this staring at a nasty mess and watching my children grab snacks out of the pantry and beg for frozen waffles 30 minutes after dinner. Sad that I’m not a better homemaker and cook. Sad that I just want to go to bed right now and know I have hours to go & lots to do before that can happen. Sad that when I finally get this room in order, I’ll enter another room that is in total disarray.
I’ll be better soon, but for now, I’m enjoying my self-pity.