A domestic goddess I am not. My house is never spotless. It seems every horizontal surface is something to be conquered with stuff. Now, we don’t have a kitchen that needs a bio hazard sticker or hazmat suits to enter it; we’re not slated to be on the next episode of Clean House or Hoarders, but we do have some clutter. We stay on top of it and never let it get out of control, but make no mistake – this house is lived in. It’s no showroom. We’re okay with that.
Something unprecedented happened this week though. Something that I don’t think has ever happened before. I cooked a meal every night this week. Real meals that required use of the stove or oven every night. Now, I know my way around a kitchen. I cook well. I love to throw parties. I love the planning, the prep, the execution. I will happily toil away in the kitchen for days in preparation for a 4 course dinner party. I am in my element then. Cooking everyday meals everyday after work? Not so much. It’s not that I don’t want my family to have home cooked meals every night; but by the time I get home from work the last thing I want to do is figure out what we’re having for dinner and then actually cook it.
I keep saying that I need to do a weekly meal plan each week. Take one day, sit down and figure out what we will have for dinner every night, then shop and make sure I have all the ingredients on hand. I know that would make weeknight meals easier. I’ve even said that I should take a Saturday or Sunday and prepare several meals ahead of time so that all I have to do during the week is reheat something. Those are both great ideas. I just never seem to make either of them happen. In a typical week I might cook once or twice. The rest of the week is cheap take out or heating up frozen dinners. We certainly didn’t dine on gourmet meals this week, but the meals we did eat were cooked and prepared by me. There was no cheap takeout. There were no TV dinners. Okay, we did end up with cereal one night, but that was only because the TGI Fridays frozen steak fajita kit thingy I cooked was not fit for human consumption. It wasn’t anything I did, that shit didn’t taste anything like fajitas you’d get from Fridays or anywhere else. I still cooked it though, so it counts.
It just occurred to me that I’ve set a dangerous precedent. I wonder if The Man and Aidan are now going to expect home cooked meals every night during the week from now on? I think perhaps I need to stock up on more frozen dinners and canned pasta!