as published at www.ocregister.com on March 14, 2013
I used to cook. And the five o’clock hour used to be my purgatory as my toddlers held a nightly sit-in near the stove with their whiny hunger pains that transitioned into wailing sobs when they finally realized that what I was stirring up above did not involve powdered cheese.
But not anymore. They battered me, they broke me, and now we’re playing a new dinner game that goes something like this:5 p.m.: “What’s for dinner?”
“I don’t know, let’s find out,” I reply as I eject a Ziploc bag from the freezer -- a time capsule of my proud “remember when I used to mate your socks and do dinner swaps with the neighbors?” moments before I surrendered my life to carpools and dino nuggets.
The bag is foreign, forboding. There are no labels in this frozen town, as the little people long ago dried out all the Sharpies writing on my keyboard, so here’s where the game gets good.
“Is it tamales?”“Chicken and rice casserole.”
“Soup, please let it be soup.”
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What's for dinner? Freezer burn, with a side of beef - OC Moms - The Orange County Register
