Since I stopped cooking for my husband, I have become quite a cheater when it comes to meals. Yesterday, I picked up a package of flavored rice mix at the grocery to have with dinner. My menu for the night was chicken with rice (cooked together), steamed broccoli (steamed in a microwave freezer pack) and coleslaw -- and the coleslaw also came in a ready-to-mix package.
When my husband was home, I usually preferred to cook everything from scratch. I also cooked much larger portions because he was such a big eater. Of course, he would likely not remember my years of cooking. There was a period of time when we went out to dinner very frequently. That was also the time when I felt very ignored and craved time with him, but he would not remember that part. He would likely simply refer to my method of cooking as 'going out to eat,' but even during that period in our lives (which is short in comparison to the number of years I cooked every night), the meals I cooked were almost always made from scratch. Not anymore.
Yesterday, I picked up my rice package as I thought about what Anne and I would eat for dinner. Then I remembered it was Thursday. Pizza night. I am kind of getting a little tired of pizza night. It may just be time for a change of menu, but I love spending the one-on-one time with my little girl. It gives us a chance to connect and catch up.
Last night, Anne brought some sheet music into the restaurant with us. As we waited for our pizza to cook, I took a look. This is my daughter's first composition. She has been working very diligently on it and I am very proud of her.
I am so proud of my daughter that I remarked to our waitress last night, "Look at what Anne has." Waving my hand, I pointed, "It is sheet music. She is writing it!" The waitress stopped to look, comment and ask questions. She was duly impressed, then began to walk away.
I continued to brag, "Yep, pretty soon she is going to be a famous composer. . . But I don't think she will ever be as famous as I am." The waitress stopped walking away and turned around. Anne's lips twisted into a half-smile as she snorted.
The waitress looked straight at me, "Are you famous?"
I began to answer with, "Yes, I ...." But I could not finish. No sooner had I opened my mouth to answer than Anne rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and started shaking her head back and forth. I burst into laughter before I could deliver my response with a straight face.
Honestly, I think I will probably reach my highest name recognition after decades of writing. That is the way it usually works with authors. As it is, I have been publicly writing for only two years and I am very pleased that my words already touch as many people as they do. I am also super-tickled that my readers seem to keep coming back for more. But I do love to tease my disbelieving daughter in good fun. She really ought to have more faith in what I say.
Some day, Anne's children will read these stories of her disbelief and wonder what was wrong with their mother that she did not believe in Granny's fame.
When my husband was home, I usually preferred to cook everything from scratch. I also cooked much larger portions because he was such a big eater. Of course, he would likely not remember my years of cooking. There was a period of time when we went out to dinner very frequently. That was also the time when I felt very ignored and craved time with him, but he would not remember that part. He would likely simply refer to my method of cooking as 'going out to eat,' but even during that period in our lives (which is short in comparison to the number of years I cooked every night), the meals I cooked were almost always made from scratch. Not anymore.
Yesterday, I picked up my rice package as I thought about what Anne and I would eat for dinner. Then I remembered it was Thursday. Pizza night. I am kind of getting a little tired of pizza night. It may just be time for a change of menu, but I love spending the one-on-one time with my little girl. It gives us a chance to connect and catch up.
Last night, Anne brought some sheet music into the restaurant with us. As we waited for our pizza to cook, I took a look. This is my daughter's first composition. She has been working very diligently on it and I am very proud of her.
I am so proud of my daughter that I remarked to our waitress last night, "Look at what Anne has." Waving my hand, I pointed, "It is sheet music. She is writing it!" The waitress stopped to look, comment and ask questions. She was duly impressed, then began to walk away.
I continued to brag, "Yep, pretty soon she is going to be a famous composer. . . But I don't think she will ever be as famous as I am." The waitress stopped walking away and turned around. Anne's lips twisted into a half-smile as she snorted.
The waitress looked straight at me, "Are you famous?"
I began to answer with, "Yes, I ...." But I could not finish. No sooner had I opened my mouth to answer than Anne rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and started shaking her head back and forth. I burst into laughter before I could deliver my response with a straight face.
Honestly, I think I will probably reach my highest name recognition after decades of writing. That is the way it usually works with authors. As it is, I have been publicly writing for only two years and I am very pleased that my words already touch as many people as they do. I am also super-tickled that my readers seem to keep coming back for more. But I do love to tease my disbelieving daughter in good fun. She really ought to have more faith in what I say.
Some day, Anne's children will read these stories of her disbelief and wonder what was wrong with their mother that she did not believe in Granny's fame.
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