077: Favorite Meal

A thought thread while washing dishes

We all have those days.

The last hours before bedtime that linger, drag on, stretch out beyond your/their/any limit.

The sun lowers to his rest while you become jealous, angry, bitter towards the time in-between you and your rest yet to come. I mean yes, the sun has extreme responsibilities, but isn’t raising (a) human/s extreme responsibility, too?

Exhausted food sits drying, seeping, soaking into every pore and crack in the surface it rests on.

Soft music plays behind you, no longer selecting what you chose back around lunchtime; even that feels like a thief.

What was meant to be a sweet, intentional, lamp-lit family dinner turned into a ruckus of an evening,

and yet it’s still my

I did not have an image for this week, & I am painfully awful at drawing, but enjoy this childish take on my countertop with dishes.

Favorite Meal

In the boxed-out, blue-washed backyard, I remembered the day while cleaning mindlessly the remnants from dinner. “What did I even make to eat?” Rushed timelines and a changed schedule left me feeling alone and upset. The two hours before his bedtime were now an extension of the tried and red-faced day we had had; rather than the relief that floods when a third party (the most important) steps into the conversation on the other side of the threshold, de-escalating everything, instantly. Picking up his dirty spoon, I remembered what I had made: tacos. An easy meal, so I tried to make a new cilantro sour cream (I’m not very savvy in the kitchen), and even set out taco sauce for the other plate. I had tried extra, on a day like today? And it wasn’t bad, maybe could use more fresh lime juice next time, or even some garlic salt mixed in. “I just wanted a break, an easy night.” He hardly laughed at dinner; unusual. Normally, I get to see the growing teeth and still mostly gummy smile I love. And he didn’t want to read Goodnight Moon tonight either. “He’s so tired.” It was a long weekend, for everyone. I picked up my dinner plate, cubed chunks of avocado coated with said cilantro sour cream spilled from a cold tortilla, half-eaten, lowly filled with seasoned ground beef and chicken broth rice, all flavorless now. Tacos are not my favorite meal. And they won’t ever be for the foreseeable future, but it doesn’t matter what I/we eat, or don’t eat, a meal spent with him will be my favorite; the last one always will be, until the next. How cold, uneaten meals become a favorite is only known through the dewy, squinted eyes below the dimly lit overhead dinner table lamp, shadowing the smile of a little one to his favorite people; sparkling with slobber and slime. The backyard is shaded to a dark navy as I dry my hands with the cherry red towel hanging off the broken dishwasher. Tonight was unexpectedly my new favorite, and so it will be tomorrow as well.

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For today,
yesterday,
or perhaps tomorrow.

Those days come and go, fleeting by their own pace.

They bring invitations to live yet long, full, grateful days
if we do not wish them away while they pass.

Until next time,
Madeline