Sunday, January 22, 2006

The return of dinner

I'm by no means the greatest cook in the world, but there was a time when I made an effort to make a real meal at least once a week. And by real meal I don't mean anything fancy - I just mean pasta that didn't come out of a box, mixed with a powder that turns to "cheese" with the addition of milk. Lately though, I've been so exhausted that The Kid and I have been on a steady diet of frozen pizza, PBJ sandwiches, and the aforementioned meal that I affectionately call "box pasta." (The meals are always accompanied by fresh veggies and a large glass of milk, so surely that makes up for the nutritionally questionable main dishes.)

Thanks to several sleep-heavy weekends, I'm actually starting to feel my energy levels coming back to normal. (I should pause for a moment to give a shout out to The Kid, who happily entertained himself most of the day Saturday while mommy took no less than three naps. Including one during what was supposed to be rainy day movie time - a special treat, as The Kid is very rarely allowed to participate in any activity that requires turning on the television. Within the first five minutes of Scooby Doo's Loch Ness Monster Adventure, Mommy was sound asleep. I woke 90 minutes later to The Kid gently stroking my hair, and his sweet grapejuice breath whisper, "The movie's over, Mommy. I just wanted to tell you that I'm gonna go play in my room, so that you didn't wake up and be scared that I was lost." Yes, he is the sweetest kid ever. But I digress...)

So, I actually set about making a real meal for dinner this evening, which included MEAT!! In a moment of poor judgment, I let The Kid choose the meat. He excitedly yelled, "sausage!!" Eew. Forget for a moment that I spent the first 20 years of my life as a vegetarian, and so even the least offensive meats (chicken and fish) are still a mite questionable. But sausage? Sausage will never cease to remind me of a foul smelling diseased penis - something I have fairly strict rules about letting anywhere near the vicinity of my mouth, dinner time or otherwise. The Kid's mind was set though, so sausage it was.

We had a lovely meal of fresh house salad, bowtie pasta in a doctored marinara, lightly steamed fresh vegetables, and sausage. I was extremely pleased with myself. Not only was I sharing a respectable home cooked meal with my son, but I COOKED MEAT. (This is more exciting than it sounds if you understand that, raised by a meatless mother, I was never taught how to cook anything that once lived. Literally, aside from browning ground beef, I've never cooked the red stuff. Even tonight's sausage was actually turkey. Baby steps, man.)

Not only did I cook it, but I ATE it too! Well, half of it anyway. Then "foul smelling diseased penis" popped into my head again, and effectively killed anything resembling an appetite.

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