I've been asked if it's hard cooking for two. Or other twosomes have said: "it's so difficult to cook for two, we may as well go out!"
Are you kidding me? This time ten years ago, there were three teenaged boys in this house. Boys who ate and ate. And ate! Boys who - I'm not making this up - would peer in the pantry immediately after dinner. Boys who - despite my planning enough crock pot chicken for a second dinner - scarfed up all but one measly chicken strip. Boys who played tennis and baseball and soccer. Boys who, God love 'em, were active and growing and hungry all the time. I nicknamed them my horses.
A favorite memory is the day I wandered over to my neighbor Cindy's house at dinner time. On her stove simmered the tiniest pots of corn and noodles. I don't think I own pots that small.
"Is Ted out of town?" I asked.
"No," Cindy answered, a little confused.
With two girls and no boys to feed, Cindy's cooking duties - or at least the quantities - seemed like child's play.
Well, the horses have moved out and on. They must feed themselves, thank goodness. At my end, cooking's a relative breeze. If I make a pot of beef stew, we eat it for a couple of nights and freeze the rest. Same with chili, soups and lasagna. Our freezer may as well have "Stouffers" stamped on it.
Of course, I miss my boys: the clatter and clutter and when arriving home, the first question they'd ask: "what's for dinner, Mom?"
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