As a mother and a blogger sometimes it feels as though there are not enough hours in the day to squeeze in everything that I need to get done. No sooner have I caught up on The Real Housewives and deciphered the latest Twitter drama, visited my favorite blogs and prepared the next day’s post that I turn around and the have to face my children clamoring for dinner.
It never fails.
No many how many times I’ve fed them in the past, they always have that “where’s dinner?” look on their faces come..er..dinnertime.
It’s like they’ve been conditioned to eat or something.
Fortunately I noticed this pattern years ago and used it to my advantage.
Because I win cooking. And do you know why?
NO, NOT BECAUSE I GET TAKE OUT. I win cooking because even though I genuinely enjoy preparing a meal for my family, I pretend that the experience is akin to being in the Gulag, so that they appreciate it more.
Like the first time I made Hillshire Farm sausage Gulosh in a slow cooker.
It was pretty much the easiest meal that I’d ever made but because it was in a slow cooker, the aroma wafted around the apartment for hours before dinner was ready. The hours during which I feigned exhaustion.
“Stay out of the kitchen!” I would shout, while fast-forwarding through an Oprah episode commercial. “This meal preparation business isn’t for amateurs!” “It smells so good!” the kids would plead. “I’m working as hard as I can!” I’d shout back at them, flipping through a recent issue of Vogue.
By the time that dinner was served, my family was salivating.
“You really outdid yourself this time,” Husbandrinka said. (I’m paraphrasing. His actual words may have been, “Finally! It’s nice to eat dinner before the kids get ready to leave for college.”)
“Mommy, you are the best!” the kids chimed in. Or something like that. Who the hell listens to them?
The dinner was a success. Everyone was delighted.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I told them. “Because I know you can see how hard I worked on it. And to relax, I’m going to go to D.C. to spend a weekend with my girl friends.”
“Can we come too?” The kids asked.
“Absolutely not,” I nipped that one in the bud. Because as far as I could tell, they weren’t the ones cooped up in the kitchen, watching daytime television and reading Vogue. Fine. US Weekly.
And I’m glad that I’m not the only one who sometimes has ulterior motives. But as long as everyone is happy:
This post is part of a sponsored campaign by Hillshire Farm.
One year ago ...
- Good News/Bad News - 2012