I pull in the driveway… it’s 5:15. Another long day. Shift… teacher to mother. Go.
I walk up the stairs and the words reach me before my school bag can reach the chair.
“What’s for dinner?”
I hate those words. I hate them now. I hated them yesterday. I will hate them tomorrow.
Think. Quick. I have ground beef. I have peppers and onions. And I’m almost certain I have a can of diced tomatoes!
“Goulash,” I call out with victory emanating from every one of my pores! They all love it. They will eat lots of it. There will be leftovers for all the half days this week. Victory is MINE!
I set to work… water on the stove. Onions chopped. Peppers chopped. Saute the peppers and onions. Add the beef. Add the tomatoes. Aaah… how I love this recipe. Toss the pasta in. Cook it up, dump it into my largest stock pot. I can see the end.
I pull out four bowls. Heaping spoonful #1. Heaping spoonful #2. Heaping spoonful #3.
I stop. I look at bowl #4. NO… what have I done? I feel an overwhelming sense of defeat. How could I have forgotten? Victory is not mine. Well, victory is still theirs… just not mine.
I turn. Open the cupboard. Put the bowl back on the shelf. I make my way to the pantry and pull out a can of tuna. I start to twist the can opener.
“What are you doing?” they ask.
“Making my dinner,” I answer.
You see, I gave up pasta and bread products for Lent.