I'm tired. In fact, most days I'm tired. The thought of putting a homemade dinner on the table each night -- while an absolutely idyllic motherhood fantasy of mine -- seems daunting. So whenever I stumble across cookbooks labeled "Fast, Family-Friendly Recipes," I bite.
Consider my most recent purchase, a book promising comfort food that is sure to tickle even the most fickle taste buds. I was sold, especially since there were pictures accompanying each recipe.
I digress a bit, but I'm not quite sure why I choose to cook a new meal (versus an old standby like corn dogs) on nights with scheduled activities. Last night was one of those nights; Ab needed to be at gymnastics by 6:30. So I started prepping for dinner at 4:00.
On the menu was chicken-pecan enchiladas, Mexican veggies and frosted banana bars. Seemed doable. Everything should be done in an hour.
But let's be honest here. We all know these "quick suppers" are probably concocted in a super-sterile environment with no kids in sight. In other words, it will probably take us real housewives of club motherhood 30 minutes to prep the food, rather than the book's allotted 10 minutes.
I came to this realization as I was chopping onions, making frosting and measuring salsa while referee-ing a fight and consoling a snotty baby who was climbing on my leg.
Dinner was served, and like most nights, I felt pretty good about having cooked a meal and doing it with plenty of time to spare. But I knew what was coming.
"Mmm, mom this is so good," Abby said. Typical, first-bite response from her. All the while William was watching her, trying to gauge whether he would like it or not.
After about three bites, Abby said (as always), "Mom, I don't think I like it anymore. Can I have some yogurt?" By this point, William has decided he doesn't like it either.
Maybe one day the kids will appreciate my culinary efforts.
In the meantime, I will continue my unrealistic pursuits of pleasing my kids' palates with recipes geared toward overachievers like me.
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