When she was in her twenties, she lived in a small rowhouse in Charm City. It wasn’t as glamorous as a brownstone, but it had the character of the city. There was the nightly battle for parking, radiators that hissed like angry snakes, and colorful neighbors who loved their music loud and late.
Responsibilities were small, and life was grand!
Back when she could stretch the dollar a whole lot more, she would head to the local grocer each week and scoot by on a fifty-ish dollar budget, grabbing the essentials to make smoothies, a few lunches, and the necessary snacks that a twenty-something has in their home. There were always eggs, cereal, fruit, a few vegetables, and an assortment of cheese, because that was, and continues to be, a staple food group for her.
The cereal, though, was often the star of the show. Rarely was it eaten in the morning; rather, its versatility made it so much more than just cereal.
She was a girl who ate cereal for dinner, or after an evening with friends out at the local watering hole. Her belly grumbled in the mid-afternoon, a bowl of cereal to the rescue. Simplistic yet satisfying meals were never overthought and could consist of only one food group. One evening, dinner consisted of a bell pepper, a rice cake, and a large handful of chocolate chips straight from the bag. Another night, pasta with some olive oil and garlic kept her full.
No one depended on her. No one asked her what was for dinner, unless there were plans to hit the square for a meal. No one complained about leftovers, and yesterday’s clean-plate club dinner was not suddenly repulsive.
Fast forward a good fifteen years.
Now, with many more mouths to feed and, thankfully, a larger budget to do so, three children gather in those afternoon hours each day, crowding the kitchen and asking the same question: “What’s for dinner?” And every single day, she must produce an answer greater than cereal, or red peppers and rice cakes.
On the best of days, there needs to be a protein, a vegetable, fruits, something with vitamins, and fiber. There needs to be something everyone will eat without refusing or spitting it out after a bite. The girl who once survived on cereal and days-old leftovers now spends a wildly large amount of time planning and prepping meals, and she’s over it.
The worst part is that once she feels she has successfully accomplished that day’s mission of feeding her brood, she goes to bed just to wake up and have to do it again for the next eighteen-plus years! Every afternoon, as she has her stare-down with the fridge, freezer, and pantry, she hopes inspiration will strike, and everyone will all of a sudden be in for something with chickpeas and broccoli.
She will catch herself daydreaming with her head in the fridge, about dinners of the past. Cereal, a PB&J on the fly, or cold leftover pizza from the week’s game. It was easy, mostly tasted good, and checked the box of the meal she needed to eat.
She knows she can not do this to her family, at least not yet. Her children are still too young to be fully trusted with meal preparation. One would eat only crackers. Another would somehow manage to create six dirty dishes while making a sandwich. The third would survive exclusively on berries until bankruptcy followed shortly thereafter.
So, day after day, afternoon after afternoon, she answers that age-old question, “What’s for dinner?”
She makes tacos, she makes pasta, and sometimes someone actually eats the meatballs and sauce. There will be grilling, and for sure, some nuggets sprinkled in. There’s protein, vegetables, and always fruit on this hamster wheel of feeding a family.
Yet every now and then, usually while scrubbing the dinner dishes, she catches herself daydreaming. Sometimes about a tropical vacation and also winning the lottery. But she also imagines a future evening when the kids are a bit older, and they open the refrigerator to answer that daily question. They decide what’s for dinner and take the lead in its preparation.
She’ll smile, remembering that young twenty-something in her cool city rowhome, with her box of Special K Red Berries. She’ll be so proud and so in love with the life that she’s built.
