I know what he likes for dinner.. . .

February 24, 2011


So far, this week has just been plain busy.

Not psychotic.

But busy enough that when I stumble through the door at 6.00, all I want to do is crawl into my pjs and warm socks and read a book until someone calls to me that dinner is ready.

Um.

Part of that is accurate.

I do stumble through the door.

I am greeted by the unconditional love and admiration of my puppies.

I certainly change from my work clothes to my pjs and warm socks.

And then I head to the kitchen because if there is going to be anything for dinner, it's gonna come from the exhausted labour of these two hands.

Last evening was no exception.

Through the door, boots not even off, I am greeted with the standard phrase confronting all mothers when they are at their most exhausted.

"What's for supper?"

Do I look like a walking menu?

Have I installed, by the couch for your convenience, a drive thru menu complete with voice box so you can place your order without interrupting the Full House marathon you've been watching?

I didn't think so.

All I can do is hope that one day in the distant future, I will live to enjoy the sweet taste of revenge when my own children come to me complaining about how their children think they are drop down menu providers.

And I will sip at that revenge as if it is a fine wine.

Savour it, even.

But until then, it looks as if I will have to continue to spend the car drive home mulling over what I can present for dinner that will not cause Stephen to remark, "Chicken. Again. Oh."






Normally, I am prepared for the meal time conundrum.

On the weekends, or late Monday afternoon, I will cook several meals at the same time, so all I have to do in response to the inevitable, "What's for supper?" is just walk to the fridge and take out whatever I have prepared in advance.

Last weekend, however, I spent most of my time lying horizontally on the couch wondering if it was actually possible to cough so hard your lungs actually go come out.

Or if you sneeze often enough, will brain matter actually appear?

Or in my case disappear?

So I didn't have my usual cadre of homemade meals ready to heat and serve.

You can bet that next time, no matter how sick I am and whether or not my little family gets an extra helping of germs with their Dijon chicken, I will have those meals prepared.

Because there is nothing quite so disconcerting than talking with your film class about how Dirty Harry set the stage for the contemporary cop film while, in your mind, you're ruminating about what to have for supper and did Stephen make the brown rice ahead of time because it takes at least an hour to cook and there is no way I'm eating dinner at 8.00 pm because he didn't make rice in advance.






We're still driving the Fiesta.

No family sized car, or car-big-enough-for-two-adult-size-teenagers-two-adults-and-170-pounds-of-dog anyway.

Last night, after arriving home from work, Stephen turns and looks wistfully at the silver Fiesta so small is barely takes up any room in our driveway, and comments that he is going to really miss it when we have to give it back.

It has "pep."

Moxy.

And no, we are not buying it.

Purchasing a second car has become an undercurrent of debate and tension in our humble little home.

Stephen wants one.

I don't.

Given how much time, money and effort Stephen puts into maintaining one car, if we had two, I'd never see him.

Plus all I can think of is two sets of all seasons, two sets of winter tires, two cars to obsess over regarding oil and filter changes, two gas tanks to fill, double the car insurance payments, and the list goes on. . . .and on. . . .and on.

Not to mention how I couldn't live with myself over the stress and anxiety I'd experience about contributing further to the pollution of the environment.

Further, this car, as do most cars nowadays, has all sorts of unnecessary gegaws and doodads that do nothing to contribute to the actual running of the car.

They are aesthetics only.

Like the little button that changes the color of the dashboard light from green to blue to red to purple.

Stephen and the kids love this little button.

Me, I see it as the first thing that would have to be repaired even though it serves no purpose in the overall functioning of the car.

Colors.

It's the little things that amuse the smaller minds.



Title Lyric: Wants for Dinner by Ciara