I love being a stay-at-home wife.
I cook. I clean. I read. I blog. I chauffeur. I write. I shop. I babysit. I talk. I teach. I walk. I think.
And I eat.
But only because I have to.
It’s the sharing that makes food taste so good. It’s Tim licking clean his plate that makes cooking such a favorite with me. My appetite feeds on his, and when we eat together, I am the hungriest girl alive.
Otherwise, with myself, it’s a battle. Cristy, it’s lunch time. But I’m not hungry. But it’s almost 1. But nothing sounds good. But you have to eat. But I don’t want to.
That is how it comes to be 2:04 and I’ve only just finished my egg sandwich. (I could not talk myself into the leftover hearty nacho dip I’d saved myself for just such an occasion as today noon. Well over half the trick is settling on something that sounds good. Today, myself and I finally reached a truce over a beaten egg in an oiled glass bowl topped with cheese, microwaved 1:11 ((2 eggs–>1:33)) minutes, served on toast with sunchips.)
Then there’s where to eat and what to do. I eat at the table, and it seems foolish just for me. I eat at the computer, and my food goes down whole because I forget to chew. I read while I eat, and that’s pretty good. I talk on the phone and eat, and that’s even better–only not for the other person (but Tim doesn’t mind). I pray and eat, but my mind distracts so easily.
Then there’s that in our house, I cook and Tim pours the drinks. So there I am at lunch without a water glass.
As you can see, Lunch is fraught with peril.
If I could eat supper twice, I’d skip lunch in a heart beat.
But I can’t.
So I don’t.
When Pop comes to us, it will be better.