I don't have to be Super Momma

It was my hope that I could, between Thanksgiving and Christmas, cook our meals at home.  It would be more healthy than driving through McGaggles.  It would be more economical than heading out to the chips and salsa place every other night.  As I made my Martha-Stewart-esque decision, I had visions of us sitting around the candle lit table using the Christmas dishes and laughing with each other right before we broke into "Silent Night" sung in three-part harmony!  Idyllic to say the least...

 For heaven's sake, why couldn't I pull off this "cooking at home" bit for a month?


Why couldn't I?  Basketball, choir, play practice, Christmas parties, deliveries, shopping, groceries, play dates... But, that didn't stop me from trying.

I could have cooked ahead, but that requires more planning than I am capable of giving at this time of year with the family that I live with (which is my own family, by the way).  I could have plugged in the crock pot in the mornings and done some cooking, but the last three times I dumped a dish in the crock pot, I came home to find that the dish had not cooked because I had not turned ON the crock pot.  Mornings are not my best time of day to say the least.

These people are not human.

Despite all the pitfalls that seem to line my life's path on any given day, I decided that cooking at home would be completely and totally do-able.  Nooo... I was not drunk when I made that decision.  Not even tipsy!

It was one crazy evening where both of The Daughters had basketball practice and we'd been up early to get to choir  in time and we'd delivered dozens of pounds of pecans and still, in an effort to be economical and healthy, I attempted to cook dinner at home.  It was 10 til seven and I was still chopping and  mincing and boiling and sipping the sangria... If I was going to be cooking this much, I was going to have to get my mind right, yo.

I peeked around the corner of the kitchen to find The Dad was snoozing in the recliner, Daughter 2  doing cartwheels in the living room,  and Daughter 1 - God bless her precious heart -  in the dining room making some sort of mess that I would clean up two days later.  I was slaving in the kitchen preparing a healthy, economical meal for my family, when a blue box of the cheesy goodness would be met with more enthusiasm and would take half the time.

Daughter 1 snuck into the kitchen and cozied up to me with her arm around my waist.  "Momma?" she began and I sucked in my breath.  I just knew she'd ask me when dinner would be ready - the question that drives Mommas the whole world over to scream and through food in their very own kitchens.  Instead, she took a very deep breath and said, "Why are you trying to be Super Momma?  Isn't it more important to be with your family than in the kitchen?"

My shoulders slumped.  I squeezed her tight to me. A lump grew in my throat and tears pooled in my eyes.  I loved my baby. She had helped me to see that even the best of intentions will rob us of the day's blessings.  She spoke again, "Why don't you put this meal up and let's go out to eat?"

I kissed the top of her ever-growing head, nodded and said, "Sure, honey.  Let's go..."

At which time, Daughter 1 broke free of my hold as if I were holding kyrptonite to her Super Daughter act and hollered, "She caved, y'all!  Let's go" and in a matter of SECONDS, Daughter 2 and The Dad had their coats on and the three of them were sitting in the van.

I quickly packed away my chopped and diced and minced foods for another night and as I stepped into the garage, Daughter 1 rolled down her window and hollered, "Get a move on, Momma!  We're starving out here!!"

Why didn't Norman Rockwell ever paint pictures of THAT scene???