I dread suppertime. I dread the whole ordeal: figuring out what to make, clearing off enough counter space to work, putting it all together, setting the table, and serving it. Lately I've been trying to make it all ahead of time to avoid making supper while "Mom, I'm hungry!" and "When is it suppertime?" ring in the air.
Yesterday I made chili and put it in the crockpot long before lunch. Hubby was going to be working until after bedtime, so I prepared for handling supper solo. After a late afternoon doctor appointment, I returned with all five kids, and starting dishing chili into their bowls. I discovered via finger-lick test that the chili was much, much spicier than my kiddos would tolerate. Back-up plan? Can of soup and grilled cheese.
While I was toasting the sandwiches on the griddle, my ears were assaulted by many sounds. "Mom, I need help!" from J in the toy room. S was protesting sleep in her crib. K was pounding on the side door to tell me that V and C were pulling levers, pushing buttons and pretending to ride on dad's new riding lawn mower. Ignoring the first two, I walked outside to inform V and C that they were not allowed to "push buttons, pull levers, sit on the seat, lid, grass bags, mower deck, or otherwise touch in any way dad's riding mower." (gotta cover the all the possibilities)
As I attempted to return to the sandwiches on the griddle, I realized that the side door was still locked. Scooting around the house to the front door, I walked in and smelled the charring of the grilled cheese. I flipped them over to confirm that they really were as black as I suspected, and groaned as tears filled my eyes.
V and K had followed me into the house and witnessed my reaction. "Mom, it's OK. We can eat burnt sandwiches. If we dip them, we won't even be able to taste the burnt stuff." was V's reaction. K didn't like that idea very much being a pickier eater, so she offered to finish supper for me. "I can do it, Mom. You'll see that I'm pretty good at making supper."
I handed K the flipper, and walked away to tend to the crying baby. After settling her down, I found the fortitude to walk back into the kitchen where K was toasting the unburnt sides of the sandwiches and V was hovering nearby to help when he could. I helped K peel the burnt sides of the sandwiches off (dropping one on the floor in the process), and she replaced them with fresh pieces of bread. I placed the warmed soup on the table, found bowls, and walked out the door. I was done. finished.
K and V handled supper beautifully. They called the younger ones for supper, served the sandwiches and soup, and left me in solitude weeding the front flower garden. By the time everyone was finished, I had recuperated and was ready to take on being Mommy again. My crushed spirits had just been rescued by my sweet, sweet 7 and 8 year olds.
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