Since retiring from my last job and beginning a second career writing, I spend a great deal more time at home than I ever did previously. In fact, I rarely ever leave the house these days. I have become pretty much a stay-at-home dad, except my children are both grown adults and don’t really need to have me around.
I guess that makes me a mostly useless, stay-at-home dad.
Anyway, hurt feelings aside, because I’m spending a lot more time at home, I have tried to make better use of that time by focusing on yardwork, house chores, and general home maintenance. Since I have more flexibility with my time than anyone else in the family, I also run most necessary errands and make myself available to meet with contractors, plumbers and other repair personnel that frequent my house.
Well, that’s not completely true. The kids also have all kinds of free time. They however don’t seem to be in any great hurry to chip in and help with the chores.
Most of the traditional duties of a stay-at-home parent have fallen onto my shoulders. And while that does at times include naps, movie marathons, and the occasional day drinking, it also means I try to have nice meals waiting for my wife when she gets home from a long day at work.
I try.
While I am not a terrible cook, I must admit that dinner at times does not turn out quite the way I had intended it to.
Recently, I decided I was going to make a meal that included turkey meatloaf and artichokes on the side. I have made this meatloaf many times before and it always turned out decent, so I was not unduly worried when I took out the recipe.
Despite several successful outcomes in the past, for some reason things did not go well for me on this attempt. I don’t know if I made a mistake on the ingredients, or if the meat I used was bad, or if food gnomes broke into my house and cursed my oven. Whatever the reason, the meatloaf turned out bad.
I mean, really bad.
I mean, epically, tragically bad.
When dinner was ready, I cut off a slice, sat down and took one bite.
“Nope!” I said and spit it back out onto my plate.
My wife saw my reaction and laughed. She insisted that it couldn’t really be that terrible, then took a taste of her own portion. She did not spit hers out, but she did stand up, carry her plate into the kitchen and dump it into the garbage.
I mean, it was truly, horrifically bad. It could not have been much worse if I had accidently baked a tennis shoe in a meatloaf pan.
I figured at least we still had artichokes. It wasn’t really a meal, but at least it was something. I tasted mine and discovered it was crunchy and badly undercooked. It was also extremely bitter.
Strike two.
EM1 and EM2 were both in the kitchen at this point putting food on their plates. I warned them not to eat any of it. Dinner was a complete failure and while I didn’t think it was poisonous, I told them not to take the chance and to just throw it all in the garbage can.
“Really?” asked EM1. I didn’t really like the look of utter joy on her face when she said it. I know meatloaf is not her favorite meal, but did she have to act like a death row inmate learning for the first time that she had received a full pardon?
“So, what’s for dinner?” asked EM2.
“I have no idea,” I admitted.
EM1 ran out of the kitchen toward her bedroom. She came back a moment later holding her purse.
“I’m going to McDonald’s. Anybody want anything?”
I sighed, still scraping what should have been meatloaf, but somehow wasn’t, out of the pan and into the sink. It smelled like burned rubber, although it hadn’t tasted anywhere near that good.
I told EM1 to get me a double cheeseburger and some fries. My wife ordered the chicken nuggets. EM1 dashed out the door with her younger sister in tow, leaving me behind to clean up the carnage I had created in the kitchen.
When I finished cleaning the dishes, I decided to make one more attempt at salvaging the evening. I rescued a bottle of wine from the back of the refrigerator. I managed to get it open without breaking the bottle or cutting off any fingers (the way the night was going so far, I wasn’t absolutely certain I could manage either outcome), then poured two glasses. One for myself and one for my wife.
We had our wine while sitting on the back porch, enjoying the cool evening breeze. The kids were still out picking up food and wouldn’t be home for another half an hour.
It was a very peaceful half hour.
It wasn’t the evening I had expected when I made dinner plans earlier that day. But as these things go, I can’t really complain about how it turned out.
.
.
.
Enjoying Deep Dark Thoughts? Be sure to tell all your friends to give it a read. They can follow me on Facebook so they don’t miss a post. Just go to my page and click the “Like” button to receive updates on my blog and other projects.