Taco Night

The ground meat sizzles in the hot pan and soon it will be many small crumbles, ready for my homemade taco seasoning.  I use my handy-dandy Pampered Chef tool to make it that way.  It’s really the only thing I have ever bought from PC that I use.

Once again I have deemed it “Taco Tuesday” since the meal is easy and a family favorite.  As the meat cooks the dog looks up at me as to say, “I know you are cooking meat. I want some,” and his nose slightly twitches, picking up the scent of dinner preparations.  He’s so cute.

I grate some cheese from the enormous block from the bulk store.  I dice up a tomato and chop up some lettuce and slice up a red pepper.  I pull out the taco shells and open the fridge for the 150th time that day.  Salsa and sour cream are also a must for this mini buffet.

My two younger children are hyper and circle the kitchen island, chasing each other. One falls and I get agitated. “Out of the kitchen!” I holler.  They laugh and run into the next room, only to circle me again, just a minute later. This time I give the evil eye and I do not see them again until I call for them, “Dinner’s ready!”

My oldest arrives first, since he is the biggest taco fan.  “How many?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

Just then, my husband walks in the door from work, and as I finish filling two taco shells with seasoned meat (and only meat!), he gives me a light kiss on the lips and we ask, “How was your day?” I like the feel of his beard. I missed him today.

I feel happy and calm that we are all together again. All the peas, back in the pod.

Every week night (minus a few when I just relent and we eat out or get take out) I make dinner.  And then, I usually clean up.

But in the last few weeks I’ve decided to just sit still once the eating is done.  The kids are old enough now to clear their own plates, empty the clean dishes from the dishwasher and even load it with the dirty ones.  Since one child does not care for “old food” (that he just ate most of) he bargains to fold the load of laundry that still sits in the dryer instead. Sometimes my man does a bit of the work, wiping down counters and serving up whatever little treat is for dessert. You know, once homework is done and checked (okay, not always in that order).

I’ve chosen my new seat at the dining table wisely, on the other side, just enough away from it all.  And even better I can see it all going on in front of me, without being involved.  From this seat I can still help with homework and offer up my plate for someone else to rinse off, and it’s harder (or appears so at least) for me to rise and get someone something.  It’s a good seat for observing and even handing out orders to the young ones.  It’s the best seat for the one who cooked the dinner. At least that is the way I see it.

The time has finally come in which I do not have to do it all. The glorious day of me stressing over ALL THE CHORES has passed.  Do I still do the majority of them? Sure, but doling them out is becoming easier every day.  And the “baby” still thinks they are somewhat fun.  She even does a pretty good job of folding her brothers’ underwear and doesn’t get grossed out by the idea.

Shhh, no one tell her.

Also do not tell the kids that allowance is a thing, deal?

Deal.

 

 

P.S. If you’re somewhat OCD like me, in order to let others do said chores you will have to NOT care how the clothes are folded, which direction the vacuum lines go or the configuration of how the dishes are loaded into the dishwasher. Just FYI…