One of Jamie's (my therapist) goals is to convince me that I am a good person. 

Poor girl.

That's a tough job.

However, there is one thing in my life that I have been fairly consistent with.   No matter how bad I was feeling.  I knew I was good at this one thing.  

Feeding my family. 


I make dinner about six days out of seven.  That's pretty good.

 Don't get me wrong.  I would love to bring home take-out or even go out to dinner twice a week. But I can't afford that. 

So I cook. 





Saturdays have become my meal preparation day.  I work during the week and the last thing I want to do when I get home is decide what I'm making for dinner.  So on Thursday I decide on the menus. Friday I grocery shop. Saturday I make at least three to four dinners for the week.  I try to double the recipe so that I can make two dinners. One to eat and one to freeze.   








Even though it's alot of work, I really look forward to Saturdays.  I put on a apron, crank up some music and make a giant mess in the kitchen. 




It feels good to make dinner for my family.   



It's nice to eat together.  At the table. We talk.  And laugh.  And sometimes fight.  And sometimes say inappropriate things.  And then laugh some more. 



Please don't judge that I let my kids drink Mountain Dew.


Or that we use styrofoam cups at times. 

We are not a perfect family. 

But we do eat together almost every night. 

I hope my kids remember this. 

I know I will. 

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