Beyonce once said in an interview, "What I do isn't hard. It's the women who work all day and have to come home and make dinner. That's a hard job."
Amen sister. You have a fan forever.
Last night I arrive home at 5:30, to the chorus of, "What's for dinner? What's for dinner?"
Not, Hi mom. How was your day?
No. It's all about, "I'm starving." Forget that I was crazy busy all day, now I'm scrambling to whip up some gourmet cuisine for their consumption. And quick too cuz they're starving.
Usually I start thinking about dinner some time after they leave for school. I mull about this or that so I have an idea about which direction dinner is headed, taking into account everyone daily schedules and such. But yesterday was a busy day and I had not a moment to put dinner to my head, hence the 5:30 scramble. I knew on the drive home that I had chicken, but which direction would it take tonite?? So My Guy is set to arrive home at 6:30, the kids are already home and harping on me for sustenance, so I've got almost one hour to prepare dinner. PANIC. I had nothing planned.
In my pantry I find the little baby above, and decide that 30 minutes with this sucker could actually work. Heck, I might even get off easy tonite. I've already got chicken in the fridge, so this is it. Now I need to interject for a moment and tell you that I am not the kind of "prepared food" mom. I am a great cook and I like to plan and prepare a proper dinner, when the time allows. But-ALL 3 of them are freakin picky eaters. Wolfgang Puck could prepare our dinner and at least one of them would complain because there was something in it they didn't like. So I'm already screwed before I have even begun. Still, I forge ahead with this hotmess above.
Much to my dismay, the fresh chicken in the fridge was not needed because the two cans of "chicken shit" that I called it, in the box were complete with some form of chicken and ready to be opened then poured into a baking dish. The guilt began to gnaw away at me immediately. Then the biscuit topping which was easy enough; nine equal drops on top of the "chicken shit" mix and pop into the oven at 400 for 30 minutes. I made some mashed potatoes and worried about the fallout on this one. I figured I'd market it as Chicken Pot Pie only better because of the flaky biscuits. 30 minutes later, everyone sits at the table. It looked pretty good, I have to say, so they approached this one with a slight curiosity.
I took my first bite.....UGH, gross, but I sat there in silence waiting for the inevitable disaster. "Not bad," is what Picky Eater 1 said.
"Mom, this is really good," said Picky Eater 2.
Picky Eater 3 seemed happy and even had seconds....
I can't figure them out.
I kill myself with a fabulous meal most of the time and they complain, but when I serve them shit-literally-they fricken love it and I'm a hero.
I'm just going to throw in the towel here and know when I'm defeated.
Tonite......it's Shake and Bake.