Before I had kids, and even while I was pregnant, I had ideas. Fuzzy, warm notions about how I would feed my family.

I love to cook. It’s as simple as that, right?

Wrong.

Life, especially my life, gets in the way.

I don’t want to whine anymore about how I work nights and how hard it is to go without sleep and basically be a single parent during the week and blah blah blah. Those things are all true, but it’s starting to bore even me to complain.

So I’m going to dream. Dream about the day I can make a meal, no matter how quickly, for my family. Where we can sit down together more than once a week and eat something I’ve prepared. I can think of no better way to show my love for people than to serve them a steaming plate of something delicious. And my poor kids hardly ever get that. It’s definitely not what I had in mind when I thought of what my family would be like.

I suppose I could do what my mother is always suggesting, and make dinner for them during the day. But what fun is that? Honestly, half the fun of cooking is watching people eat the result. Partaking with them. Besides that, I barely have time to throw in a load of laundry or make a sandwich.

Someday, and hopefully someday soon, I am going to broaden their picky little palates. They’ll eat seafood. They’ll eat curry. They’ll eat roasted chicken.

And I’m sure at first they’re going to hate me for it. Enjoy your PB&J’s while you can, kids! Roast root vegetables will be filling your plate before you know it.

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