When I get in a funk you can often find me sitting or depending on the situation laying on the kitchen floor. I'm not sure where I got this weird oddity of a habit or when it started but I found myself sitting on the kitchen floor tonight without any ounce of interest in making dinner.
The boys were in the kitchen with me. They played with their fridge toys as their mother (that's me) groaned in discontent just inches away.
At one point Jacek asked me what I was doing. I told him that I was really not interested in making dinner.
He says to me, "Well, we have to eat. I'll just eat a hot dog. I like hot dogs, so does Aidan".
I love to cook so this is not a common weekly occurrence but it does happen.
Tonight, however, meatloaf was the "planned" meal. Yes, I am one of "those Moms". I make a menu at some point, plan a trip to the grocery store with said menu in mind and follow that menu through the week. We deviate from the menu on nights when it just isn't gonna happen. On those nights, plan YOYO is executed. YOYO - You're On You're Own.
So there I was, sprawled out on my kitchen floor with my boys jumping on and around me, thinking "Should I play the YOYO card tonight?"
Meatloaf. Or no meatloaf? That is the question.
I loved meatloaf growing up. My father would make it. (Funny how sometimes I call him father and other times call him Dad) I still love meatloaf. I always think of Dad in the kitchen with his bare hands in the silver mixing bowl mixing the meat and ingredients together. I remember the potatoes boiling on the stove, soon to be mashed potatoes. And the canned corn, can't forget the canned corn. Oh, and the gravy in the orange pourable mixing bowl.
Jacek and Aidan have not yet enjoyed a meatloaf meal. There has always been a huge amount of protest, gagging and a frustrated Mommy and Daddy on meatloaf nights.
Not tonight! Whatever I did to the meatloaf tonight was nothing short of a miracle. Yes, that's right. I got my butt off the floor and made the meatloaf. NO hot dog dinner for my boys! The meatloaf was delicious and the boys didn't even utter a word. They. Just. Ate. and Ate. and Ate.
They ate the meatloaf the way I remember eating my fathers.
When the boys were done and hands and faces washed I sat for a minute at the table by myself and thought about my Dad.
Then I thought about my boys. Grown. Wondering if some day they too might have a moment of reflection when they think of their mother and her meatloaf and her smile.