Real Cooking on a Friday Night? Unheard of. Absurd. (At Least to My Family)

 I don’t cook on Friday nights. (Or Saturday or most Sundays).  I just don’t.  I haven't for years - no matter whether I worked full-time, part-time, or at home.  I don’t like cooking.  I am not good at it.  I am a picky eater.  My family is made of picky eaters.  My family literally shutters when I try a new recipe.  And the crock pot?  Forget it.  When it comes down from its perch on the cabinet, I hear a very pointed, “Why is that out?” or  “What is for dinner??”  They HATE the crockpot - the mixing of veggies, meat, and some kind of liquid is more than they can bear.


Baking?  I love baking.  I am a sweets eater, and my family always appreciates new recipes and old favorites.  When they can smell something wonderful coming out the oven, the conversation is different.  “Is that for us?”  “When can we have some?”  “That smells great, Mom.”


So I don’t know what came over me tonight, but I cooked.  And not reheat frozen meatballs and cook pasta.  (No judgment.  This is one of our family favorites.)  Chicken from raw meat and oven-roasted potatoes.   We took the dog for a walk, and then I began.  I listened to a podcast, fed the dog, and cooked.  And I felt good about it.  Good that there were veggies on my 16 year-old’s plate.  Good that we saved a little bit of money.   On a Friday night.   Huh.  I still don’t know what to make of it. 


I swear our Friday night take out place is going to wonder about our lack of ordering tonight, but I’m sure we will make it up to them tomorrow.  This definitely gives me a free pass for the rest of the weekend.


Lesson: Go with it.  In this crazy, upside down world, if something gives you joy, even a little bit of joy, go with it - unusual as it may be.

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