Don't Ask Me What's For Dinner

Dinner time. 

This, over the last year or so, has really, really become a struggle. 

I cannot tell a lie.

My relationship with dinner-time has been a bit of a roller coaster over the last decade.

Before I was married it was one of the things I most feared. I had never really learned to cook. When I was single and living on my own I literally lived on a box of instant couscous and a can of stewed tomatoes heated in a pot. 

This was dining. 

I was proud of it and served it to guests

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I remember when Gretchen and I lived together we raved about this culinary brilliance.

Now don't get me wrong, it was yummy. 

But... I mean... c'mon.

Then came marriage.
Entering into a marriage situation I knew that my instant couscous and my trusty can of tomatoes wasn't going to cut it as a wife. 

I was going to need to make dinner. 

Real dinner. 

With real food. 

And with at least SOME variety. 

I didn't know how to follow a recipe beyond what that little box told me:

1/4 cup of water, empty box contents into pot, cover and let it come to a boil. Remove from heat and let sit for 5 minutes.
DING - Dinner is served!

Put a cook book in front of me and I was lost! 

Look at that baby boy that I married! So young!

But as tends to happen, I adapted, and... if I may say so, became a pretty decent cook. 

with the help of MANY family members who talked me off MANY a culinary ledge

But for the most part for the first 3 years of our marriage I did well preparing meals, trying new things, introducing new things to my meat-and-potatoes husband, and keeping up with it even with working and a full social calendar. 

okay basically just with working. I mean, my social calendar was basically Gretchen and Clayton and they lived downstairs and usually joined us for dinner so... whatever. 

Then I got pregnant... and everything started to fall apart.
I got fat. 
I got tired.
I got hobbit feet. 
And I got NOT in the mood to cook dinner. 

Greg and I really took advantage of all that the Hershey restaurant scene had to offer during much of those 9 months. 

Every now and then I would pull myself together and cook up something great. 

Trusted favorites like balsamic chicken or marinated london broil with salad. Nothing over the top, but still balanced and delicious. 

But more often than I would like to admit we had cereal for dinner or some form of take out.

Chicken Alfredo from the local italian place was my pregnancy FAVE. Oh how I craved it! 

Once Lucy came, thanks to our church, dear friends and our family we ate meals again. 
Real ones. 
Yummy ones! 

There is no greater joy than the joy of receiving a delicious, home-cooked meal three nights a week from people who care enough and pity you enough to bring it to you. 

But on the flip side, there is no greater sadness than when those meals come to an end. 

So you're telling me that 6 months is too long to request meals?

But... But... help!

And the pendulum swung again... it was my turn to figure out dinner. 

But it didn't happen. 

I could not, for the life of me, find my rhythm of couponing, food shopping and meal planning. 
My mind felt like the absolute most disorganized mess ever!

I was struggling to balance a colicky, screaming still adorable mind you wee baby and also a boiling pot of something or an oven-baked whatever... when I hadn't stepped foot in the grocery store for any supplies in weeks. 

Greg and I tried all kinds of things... he would watch the baby so I could figure out dinner... 
It worked once or twice... but ultimately we couldn't keep it up.
I still hadn't made it to the food store!

So then Greg would try to cook

didn't work... no further comment

So the downward spiral away from my glorious days of 1950s-housewife-style cooking continued. 

I have to shamefully admit at almost 20 months post-partum... things are not looking much better. 

Sometimes it has felt like it takes 110% of my meal-planning energy just to make sure Lucy has a balanced meal... let alone Greg and I too!

I know what you're gonna say 
"She can eat what you eat"
But Lucy eats at like 5:30... I have not yet organized myself to prepare a whole large meal by that hour so, nope, doesn't happen.

Conversations that are commonly heard most evenings:

While Lucy eats

Greg: Are we eating dinner?

Me: I didn't defrost anything

Greg: okay...

Me: did you want to eat something?

Greg: pulling out the take-out menu

or

While Lucy eats

Greg: What did you want to do for dinner

Me: I didn't have any ideas. Did you?

Greg: No... 

Me: so...

Greg: opens cereal box and pours

or

While Lucy eats

Me: Hey I remembered to defrost some chicken, and it's cooking.

Greg: great! What else will we eat with it?

Me: Oh... you wanted something else too?

Greg: Well, maybe a vegetable?

Me: I just have the chicken. 

Greg: okay. 
Pours a bowl of cereal.

Friends, I am not proud of this. 

I wish it weren't the truth. 

But it is. 

ohhhh my it is. 

It's as if I've lost all sense of time management and multi-tasking ability. 

But I am determined to swing back to the days of yore when we ate dinner and it was good. 

I'm telling myself once we have our own house again I'll be Betty friggin' Crocker with a toddler on my hip and a spatula in my hand. 

Maybe not exactly like that. 
Actually not at all, can anyone actually cook with a toddler on their hip?
No.

But I know it's more socially acceptable to NOT fall into that whole traditional wife-makes-dinner role. I guess it's kinda old fashioned but... I like it... or the idea of it since I'm not so good at doing it. My husband works hard and it is a joy (usually) to be able to serve him a meal that he enjoys. I feel honored and pleased when he likes it and tells me I should make it again, or thanks me for the yummy meal

on the flip-side it's slightly less joyful when I serve dinner and he grabs the Worcestershire sauce to pour on it... but I digress. 

So my prayer is that I can find some sense of organization to my life again and whip out that trusty cook book and get back in the swing of things with dinner for this family. 

Here's hoping!

Hold me to it come that distant day when we do have our own space and hopefully feel like I can return to the land of the living. 

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