After working all day, the thought of making dinner is exhausting! Every day, the first words out of Raeven’s mouth after picking her up from either camp or after-school-care is, “What’s for dinner?” Most times, we haven’t even made it to the car before she pops the question! Déjà vu? Sounds like married life to me-LOL!
Tonight was a little different. I was ready—hotdogs! That put a smile on her face—I never get that reaction with salmon and veggies. When the hot dogs were ready, I called her into the kitchen. Suddenly, right in front of me—or rather, right in front of George—her facial features began to morph into the disapproving look I have come to recognize. It was obvious—she was not happy! She likes her dogs boiled and I like mine grilled on the George Foreman (don’t know what I’d do without George!)
She pouted and her eyes welled up with tears a bit as she told me that she wanted them boiled. “Oh well,” I explained, “the cook gets to choose how they’re made. Eat them or you don’t eat anything. Kitchen is closed!” She chose the latter, so I went ahead and enjoyed mine as anticipated. When I finished eating, I mentioned with enthusiasm, how good they were. And just when I was about to put away the two she passed up earlier, I heard, “is it too late to change my mind?”
“Nope, it’s not too late,” I replied. With that, she was back in the kitchen preparing the buns with globs of ketchup.
Later, I asked her how her hot dogs tasted. “Good,” she answered.
“You liked them?” I prodded.
“Uh huh,” she answered.
Moral to this story: When Grandma cooks, you eat what Grandma cooks!—End of Story!
