But lately it seems that the energy that it takes to cook
is being sucked away by things more pressing.
It all came to head last night when I realized that as I was making dinner,
I was actually referree-ing a football game.
Whilst mixing, baking and laboring over a hearty meal for the family
I was throwing down flags (or dish towels as it may be) and making calls.
Toss the salad.
"Jack, you may not use your brother's head as goal post. Stop throwing things at him. Penalty on the play!"
Flip the burgers.
"Will, do not stick your finger up Addison's nose. Illegal use of hands!"
Set the table.
"Get off of each other! Let go! Face Mask! Off sides! Penalty!"
Or whatever it is those refs say when they are totally ticked off at the innapropriate actions taking place on the field.
For some reason right about the time I start to pull out the dinner fixings,
my children use all control of their faculties and common sense and go nuts.
Two days ago while I prepped the chicken,
Addison dumped all the playdough into our kiddie pool. Playdough? Pool? Not good.
Yesterday, as I cut up the veggies, Jack formulated an ant killing concoction
that included a large amount of cinnamon and performed a mass killing on the
family room carpet...he assured me that it would smell good because of the
cinnamon. CINNAMON? CARPET? NOT GOOD!
All I'm saying is that no refs in the NFL are expected to cook a satisfying
meal while running up and down the field.
You just don't see them sauteeing while doing all their fancy hand signals.
And so I'm thinking, tonight...no cooking. We're doing take out.
I would say that is a good call on my part.
The ref needs a break.