Sunday, February 2, 2014
What's For Supper?
How many times have you asked your spouse or child(ren), "What would you like for dinner?" Countless times, right? And all you get back are those lame responses of "I don't know (or) I don't care."
A typical scenario in my house years ago was we were nearing the end of a hectic work week, no food defrosted or low on groceries and I would pose the question to the family: "What would you like for supper?", knowing a trip to the grocery store was needed.
And then I got those two responses (don't know, don't care) which gave me nothing to go on. My husband would pipe up and say something ridiculous back: "What do you feel like making?" What do I feel like making? Seriously? I just got home from an 8 1/2 hour day of multi tasking between inside sales, purchasing and inventory with the brain power of a snail and you really think I WANT to make dinner; let alone brainstorm a super duper meal after 5 p.m?
In typical passive-aggressive fashion I would spew back: "What do you feel like eating?", which only made things that much worse because the ball was back in my court with this next statement: "Suggest something."
So I would throw out a suggestion. "Nah." Another suggestion. "Not in the mood for pasta." Stupidly I toss out yet another suggestion that I am sure will take an hour and a half to put together and cook. I'm told that it's going to take too long to cook the dish I suggested (duh) and he's hungry.
Well while we waste about 45 minutes to an hour of tossing the ball back and forth and after coming home after 5 p.m., it's now 6:00 p.m. or later. Our son is starting to pace between upstairs and downstairs wondering when food will be presented - he skipped school lunch because he forgot his money and as a growing boy he needs food NOW. But was he any help in picking out the menu? No, plain and simple.
Meanwhile the husband who gets extremely cranky himself when he doesn't get food is starting to fold his arms (his trademark pose of I'm pissed) and his lips are getting thinner (another trademark of anger).
I'm the mother. I'm the wife. I work a 40 hour plus a week job and I'm supposed to cook. I'm supposed to be super woman whose got all the answers when it comes to food. Menu planning, budgeting, shopping each and every week. Remembering to take something out of the freezer the night before so my poor hungry husband and son would not starve is my job, right?
But frazzled and tired wonder woman gets just a little bit steamed up because someone who had been home an hour or more before her, had no thoughts of doing some grocery shopping for food for supper.
By now the clock has not stopped ticking and I have had it. I'm not cooking. I'm not going to the grocery store. Game. Set. Match.
So what's the number for the pizza house again?