I like having dinner on time. This means that dinner should be ready when my husband gets home from work. Lately, the bug has been clinging to my leg all afternoon, so I have been making dinner during his nap. This means that dinner is done at 1pm, and needs to be microwaved up at 6pm. This is not ideal, but it’s okay with me.
So here I am, fighting with a butternut squash at 1pm and thinking back to the days when Zach made me dinner.
In Washington, I used to have a crazy commute to work – at best, 1 hr 40 min each way. The 3+ hr commute, coupled with long hours on the job, meant that I was away from home at least 13 hours per day. When Zach wasn’t out to sea or sleeping on the boat, he came home well before I did.
He would pick me up from the ferry around 7 or 8ish most days. I would plop into the car and check out his outfit. If he had on his uniform, that meant he came straight from work. No hope of a ready meal. On the other hand, if he had on jeans, that meant dinner could feasibly be waiting for me.
“What are we eating? I’m starving.”
At least 90% of the time he would reply, “What do you want?”
“Ugh!!! I’m so hungry,” I would moan, “Who cares what I want. I need to eat. I need to eat now. Why can’t you make dinner before you pick me up?” I would be tired, hungry and stressed from work. I was never nice or polite by that time.
He would say, “I thought you would want dinner to be hot. If I make it before you are home, I don’t know what ferry you are on, so I don’t know when you’ll be home.”
While a hot dinner was a sweet idea, I didn’t care.
We would squabble about it some more, and at some point he would either make me spaghetti or get a pizza.
Eventually, we instituted a “Don’t talk until we’re home and Rebecca’s had at least 1 cup of tea” rule. This went much better. I also started packing snacks to eat on my long trek home.
In Ohio, I had a medium commute on the days when I wasn’t working from home. 1 hr 15 min each way. A breeze compared with the Washington commute. Dinners were usually waiting for me when I got home. I loved my husband for it. He made awesome meals.
Now, the tables have turned. I am in charge of dinners. By 6pm, the house is a wreck, the kid is a mess, and I’m exhausted. But I always get a measure of satisfaction in knowing that dinner is ready. It may be cold, it could be leftovers and it might not be healthy!
But it is usually tasty, and it is always ready.