Feeding Time at the Zoo!

I am in a rut.  Sure, that covers a lot of territory when it comes to me.  I never change my hair color, I tend to wear a lot of forest green and khaki/cream because I have no imagination when it comes to mix and match, and I am not fond of change in general.  I only paint my toenails fire engine red and my hair has been worn in variations of a bob, and all of these things have been drug out for the past fifteen years.

I am ok with that.

This rut, however, is just bad: I do not know what to cook.

A woman who has limited interest in cleaning but is a stay at home mom really does need to have something domestic to show for her time spent.  Meaning that just because the house is still standing and the kids are still breathing at the end of the day, it doesn’t really look as if you accomplished anything if there isn’t a meal ready to eat in the fridge.  Although for the record, keeping all three of them alive on any given day is pretty exhausting.  Small children, particularly toddlers and brave preschoolers, don’t have much survival instinct.  For example, whining before I have finished my first cup of coffee.

I could blame the heat.  Nothing really sounds good when it is hot.  Merely making pancakes this morning raised the temperature in the kitchen to sweltering.  I have also realized that cooking leads to washing dishes, and sticking your hands in hot water when the humidity is hovering at 84%?  Not my idea of a good time.

The picky eaters do not help matters any.  After an hour of chopping and simmering, you want a response more favorable than “do we HAVE to eat that?”  Since my husband works evenings, if I want immediate gratification in terms of praise, lunch has to be the big meal of the day.  He hasn’t really gone for that, since a big meal makes him tired.

I would like to also spread some blame on the restaurant commercials on tv.  Once I have put the kids to bed and actually indulge in some boob tube time, I am inundated with visuals of food way better than what I made for dinner.  Or at least it looks better, and I didn’t have to make it, or clean up after it!  I’d love nothing more than a five dollar foot long right about now.  Especially since I wouldn’t have to chop the onion or shred the lettuce.

Normally I would watch some food porn (Paula Deen, Triple D, Man v Food) and be inspired.

No such luck.

I slap some peanut butter on bread, throw some yogurt on the table, heat up a veggie and call it good.  Last night’s grilled chicken?  Naked.  No marinade, no rub.  It felt like cheating.  Normally I would marinate it in Italian dressing until it was so juicy and flavorful that the idea of barbecue sauce seemed like a crime.

And boxed macaroni and cheese.  BOXED.  Ok, it had a sauce pouch rather than the powder, but still.  I can rock some homemade mac and cheese, but I just wasn’t feeling it.  I suppose the love that goes into cooking (at least I boiled water, damn it!) can be felt even if you didn’t hand grate the cheese.

I suppose it comes from being spoiled on our recent camping trip.  We ate very well, and most of it was not the result of my hard work.  My MIL cooked her famous camping “mess” that is to die for: smoked sausage, green peppers, onions, pineapple, jalapenos and who knows what else with sweet and sour sauce and cooked over the fire.  Our friends brought up various pork products, lovingly smoked, injected, and rubbed into perfection.  My husband made bacon over an oak fire, which is possibly the best bacon you will ever eat.

Now I am left despondent, back to being responsible for three meals a day plus snacks.  Someone is always hungry around here, and most of them only eat from a small list of acceptable foods, ever changing.  This week one won’t eat grilled cheese, the next week waffles are forbidden.

I know I should have a “plan” and be mapping out my menus by the week, since I have all this free time on my hands.  Heaven knows breaking up fights over the blue marker shouldn’t be THAT taxing, and who cares who is “player 1″ on the Wii…..

I don’t have a menu.  I too look at what is for dinner and just think “this isn’t what I want!”  But I refrain from crying underneath the kitchen table about it.  Usually.  Sometimes Linus won’t move over and give me room so I too can kick over a chair and thrash appropriately.

I almost got excited when I picked one red pepper out of the garden and saw that my basil was thriving.  If only I weren’t one pepper short of a certain pasta dish….  But I’ll be honest.  That doesn’t even sound good.  My husband would love it though!

I hope this passes soon, because I hate a rut.  And I love to eat!  If only I could borrow Paula Deen until I get my groove back!

Current Mood: Do me in already! & Unmotivated

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