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It’s all about food

So, yesterday it seemed that a lot of “kitchen”-type stuff came up.  I figured I was MEANT to blog about it. 

For those of you who don’t know, I live on a farm.  My extended family all farms together.  Yesterday (and today’s) project was working in our yard to move our chicken coop.  My mom had made plans to go to town, so she left me instructions to make the guys dinner. 

Now, I hate cooking; I’m terrible at it.  But that’s okay.  I know how hard the guys work (and the appetite they work up) and as long as we have box mixes. . . well, I’m good.  So, I spent over an hour making this boxed chicken Alfredo, with real chicken breasts and the whole works.  I made a salad to go with it, and planned a dessert of ice cream mixed with brownies.

But when I looked out the window, as the Alfredo was just finishing . . . no guys.  So, I call their cells.  I leave messages on two different phones.  I wait.  I put the pasta back on the stove to stay warm.  I wait some more.

Finally, the phone rings.  (By this time my salad has wilted lettuce.)  My uncle informs me that they WILL NOT be home for dinner. 

GREEEAAAT.  I put on my “cheerful” voice, pretend it’s alright, and say, “Okay, I’ll just stick it in the fridge then.”  And then I try to ignore all the other things I could have gotten done that morning if I hadn’t been cooking. . . and I also eat my Alfredo solo.

Welcome to life on a farm.

That afternoon, I head over to my grandparent’s.  My great-grandma lives with them and I help watch her when my grandma has to run errands.  Now, the most interesting thing about working with the elderly, is that you never quite know what they’re going to do or say.  Sometimes, nothing happens;  other days, a lot.

All of the sudden, at 4:00, great-grandma gets up and I hear her rummaging around in the kitchen.  When I head in to see what in the world she could be up to, I find her setting the table!!  She never does that.  It must mean she’s really hungry . . . but at 4:00?

“Grandma, are you ready for supper?”  I ask.

“Well, it’s 5:00,”  is her practical answer.

“No,” I respond.  “It’s only 4:00.  But I can start getting it ready if you’re hungry.”

I convince her to go sit down in the living room while I heat up her soup and hunt for the leftover taco stuff my grandma left for the rest of the family to eat.  I’m literally one minute away from telling her that it’s time to eat, when she calls my to the living room.

“Emily, we’ll wait ’till 5:00 to eat.”  she decides.

“Okay.  But are you sure?  ‘Cause if you’re hungry now, we can eat.  It’s nearly done.”

“No,” she decides.  “Because there’s too much time ’till bedtime.”  (Her world revolves around her schedule, which, sadly, is meals and sleeping.  She can’t do much else anymore.)

“Okay,” I respond. 

Then I turn off the stove and put everything back in the fridge to wait 45 minutes.

After supper, I get little tips on how to do the dishes, too.  Mhmmm. 

I won’t be sexist here and insinuate that only women cook and only men ungratefully eat the said meal.  So, let’s do it this way: 

To ANYONE who eats food they didn’t make themselves: BE GRATEFUL.  Because, you really have no idea. . .


2 Responses

  1. I love to cook. I hate cleaning up after. Maybe they thought you needed practice?

  2. Haha. Maybe. Sad thing is that would be too true . . . I’m a horrible cook & really DO need practice.

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