Monday mornings, in this phase of my life go off without a hitch. It’s the dinners that get me.
Last week we were waiting for our rice to cook through.
We ended up eating it crunchy.
Today I got a late start. Zizza wanted me to watch her tie her shoes (a new talent) “Watch me watch me!” she said. Then when I sat down to watch she would sit there not tying until I looked away at which point she would grouch “you’re not watching!” and the whole thing would start over.
During one such encounter I delivered a big smacking kiss to my Enzo but got my aim wrong and landed it right on his eyeball. Ten minutes of crying (him) and soothing (me) and rubbing (him) and reminding not to rub (me) ensued.
When he was sufficiently calm to leave my arms I went back to the cooking that had been interrupted by the shoe tying exhibition but I couldn’t find the recipe that had been in my hand when Ziz first called me to watch her and spent another ten minutes looking for it. (It was ont he table)
By the time I was cooking in earnest the Mr was home.
It’s still cooking, the dinner, I didn’t realize it would need to reduce so much when I started out so it simmers on while all it’s accompanying dishes wait, trying to retain their heat.
Meanwhile, upstairs children are trying their best to clean the pile of a mess they made as a surprise for me. The Mr took them up when he got home so I could cook in peace. Once I got to the point where I could leave the kitchen without fear of burning the broccoli I went up to see what was going on. That’s when I was presented with my “surprise.”
On the sofa where I expected, by the sound of things, to find a sleeping Mr was a pile. Pillows, and blankets enough for the beds of two children, plus various and sundry toys stacked from the seat to the top of the sofa back.
“Where’s Pop?” I asked as Enz scrambled to the top of th pile, just where his father’s head would be were he napping there. “He’s here!” Zizza answered and peeled away a layer of bedding to show that her father was indeed in just the place I expected to find him, his head had slipped to the side making way for Enz to perch in the place I’d expect it to be. I stood there staring at his face for a minute. Was he really sleeping? How could he be? This must be his part in the game…but his face was completely relaxed. No smile hiding there, no tell tale scrunching of eyes. He was honestly sleeping through all of this.
“Do you like your surprise?” they asked me. “Yes I do,” I said. “Maybe now you can make a surprise for Pop. Why don’t you put everything away before he wakes up, won’t that be a good surprise?”
They set to work right away, hauling an impressive amount of stuff down the hall on their first load. Only then did I realize that I’d missed the photo op. I wish I had a picture of that pile to show you. A picture with the Mr’s face nestled in among the pillows and toys as proof that he’d honestly slept through the whole of it.
I started out writing to kill time while the excess liquid evaporated from the pot on the stove, and ended up scalding the bottom a bit. And so it goes on Mondays.
One Response to Why is dinner always late on Mondays?