“What’s for dinner mom? “My ever hungry trio of boys inquires.
     The one question I dislike more than any other.
     The question that is thrown at me several times throughout out the day, every day. Regardless of my response, it is met with grumbles and whines.
     You can’t please everybody all the time I understand, but I would be happy with at least pleasing some of the people, some of the time.
     I would love to hear, just once, hey mom guess what’s for dinner?
     But certainly that won’t happen until they are all moved out and invite me to their place.  I have a feeling I will still be the one doing the cooking.     Tonight darlings, we have onions and a poke in the eye” I respond sternly, with my one eyebrow up technique for added seriousness.
     “We had that last night” middle child responds with his lightning fast wit.
     “The poke in the eye was the best part” oldest jumps in to add to the barrage of mom insults.
     “Whatever I make you will love, and you will be thankful that you are so lucky. You should have seen what I had to eat when I was a kid” my mothers voice begins actually coming out of my mouth at this moment. I am unable to believe how frequently this happens.
     “We know mom, pea soup and you hated it. We’ve heard this story four thousand times” the largest pain in my butt replies. Adding his own special eye roll for dramatic effect.
     “And you had to walk to school up hill both ways, in the snow, dragging the family car” middle smartass now using my one eyebrow up technique back at me.
     I never did like that kid.
     “You need to get some new stories mom” oldest chimes in as if on cue.
     “And how about some new cookbooks” the smallest enters his opinion from stage left, in an effort to join the trio of stooges.
     The only thing missing was some applause from the audience. I may as well be living on one of those sit-coms, at least then I might have some good lines to defend myself.
     Realizing they perhaps have gone too far with me, and were quite likely pushing the boundaries to far towards making mom have a spaz. Or possibly it was the call of their favorite cartoon that saved me, but most importantly the assault of my culinary opponents ended.
     They all vacated on a high note and left me alone to figure out what to feed my family of critic/comedians.
A swarm of idiots leaving as quickly as they had arrived, like a summer storm that ruins your picnic. Able to change the mood and leaving remnants of annoyance in an effort to allow the insults to linger a little longer.
     “Did I mention that I don’t really like children” I yell after them as they run down the hallway. They don’t care. The only thing important around here is what is coming out of the oven.
     What IS coming out of the oven? I imagine that I am supposed to know.
     I have no idea. Sometimes it is as much a mystery to me as it is to the rest of the crew.
     The years of mothering have not engrained in my brain the ability to advance plan a meal yet. My inspiration for dinner comes to me in the form of whatever falls out of the freezer and lands at my feet. I take these as divine messages from the tomb of meat.
     “Tonight you will have pork chops and frozen peas” speaks the freezer with a stone cold certainty, punctuated with a long frozen package of chops smashing my toe with tonight’s dinner plan.
     Sadly, my lack of culinary ability seems to have created for me the reputation as the chef that makes only the things that everybody hates. Armed only with my arsenal of healthy home cooked meals and good intentions, I have managed to bring an entire family to the edge of terror on a regular basis. If only that was my intention I would really be onto something.
     I remain hopeful that no world army ever gets a hold of a force as strong as my dinners.
     The opposing nations would crumble.

     The End

© 2006 Lisa McCauley, all rights reserved.