Food

Food

I’d been to have my tarot cards read earlier in the day and the vibe was magic. The tarot card reader flipped over a card with some number of cups and told me it’s my choice when to allow someone new into my life. I understood this to mean romantically and nodded in a way to convey my understanding, then laughed in a way meant to convey absolutely not. There is no room for romance in this tiny post-divorce house that my kids keep telling me is too small. I Googled Tinder once but didn’t sign up for an account, not even a fake account so I could just look like my friend told me to do.

I am in a delicious early evening post tarot card reading glow, chopping broccoli and cauliflower for a salad, listening to delicious music when it occurs to me that maybe I am, actually, ready for romance. Maybe I do want to cook someone dinner in my tiny house; listen to music, have a night, have a time. How many dates do you go on before you cook for someone? I’m not an amazing cook, maybe not even a good cook, but I miss the hopeful suspense of cooking for someone…does this someone love my cooking? Could this someone eat the leftovers of a five pound meatloaf for two weeks? What would I even cook for someone? Probably spaghetti. Probably not tuna casserole.

My kids don’t want any of the salad I’m making for dinner. My oldest son asks for a cheeseburger. My youngest son wants chicken nuggets. My biggest regret as a mom is the way I’ve not done a great job of feeding my kids. I don’t cook for my kids as much as I prepare them food. I make a cheeseburger and chicken nuggets and both kids eat on the couch watching Youtube. It’s what we’ve always done — convenience food on the couch, usually watching YouTube. I hate YouTube. I told myself when we moved into this house that I was going to make dinner every night and that Youtube would be banned. We were going to eat beautiful healthy dinners at the table every night! I made tuna casserole once after we moved into this house. My kids hated it. I ended up making them chicken nuggets and ate the tuna casserole myself for several days, then threw most of it away. You can only eat so much tuna casserole by yourself.

A week after my tarot card reading no romantic possibilities have presented themselves, my youngest son is in trouble at school, and it is, yet again, dinner time. I tell my kids I am making spaghetti and meatballs. We are going to eat dinner, together, at the table. Yes, the kitchen cabinets are mid-paint job. Yes, the kitchen table chairs are folding metal card table chairs borrowed from Grandma’s garage. No, I am totally positive where I put many of the kitchen supplies. The kids and I work together to set the table. We find enough matching dinnerware that it actually looks like maybe we do this regularly, or we could, if we wanted to. I ask if the kids want me to put the food on the table family style or if they want me to make their plates for them. They want the food on the table family style, so that’s what we do.

They eat enough, I eat until I can’t move. We pack up the leftovers, the kids pour milk in the leftovers and laugh while I explain food costs and wastefulness. The next day I go to the grocery store with a list and a meal plan for the next couple of nights. That night I ask my kids if they want tacos or potato soup. They want chicken nuggets on the couch. I could argue with this, demand that we eat at the table again, explain how many times you have to repeat an act for it to become a habit, but I don’t.

The next night I make tacos without asking anyone if they want tacos. When the tacos are done I ask my oldest son, “Do you want a taco?” he says no. My youngest son wants a taco with lettuce and cheese, and seems excited about tacos. He eats standing up at the table between throwing and catching the football I am letting them throw inside the house because it is dark at five o’clock and there is nothing else to do. I am surprised at how worried I am that he’s not going to like the taco. My son takes a bite of his taco, chews for a distressingly long time and finally, gives me a thumbs up and a happy nod. He likes the taco, eats the whole thing. In an hour he will sit down and ask for chicken nuggets on the couch and I will make him chicken nuggets, sit beside him on the couch, and decide that the first time I cook for someone new I will definitely make tacos. Or a reservation. At a restaurant.