When the kids are with their dad, I rarely cook for myself. Heat up, maybe. But cooking, nope. Cooking for one is sad now. Not hours of therapy sad, just someone taped over your favorite movie on your old VHS tape kind of sad. It just takes so much effort when it’s only me to eat it, and the little boogers wear me out.
The kids and I had a really great day yesterday with really great friends, but the children far outnumbered the “grown ups” and good glory they have energy. They were angels all day, but just keeping up with that many children kept my brain more alert than it is accustomed to being, even with my huge morning cup of caffeine.
I slipped into a coma for about an hour after their dad picked the kids up. I went down like a saggy, lead balloon. I woke up starving though and stood in front of the fridge looking at ingredients but no dinner. In the end, I went with a gourmet option of wine and cheese… kraft cheddar, rice crackers and mom’s special big glass of wine.
I’m definitely not a great chef for a table of one.