As acknowledged in my last post, I have been remiss in posting to Eating Suburbia. During my absence, I often looked at it longingly, wishing I could find more time in my day to share thoughts and recipes with you. But circumstances prevented me from doing anything other than my paid job and being with my mother at the hospital. And I mean that literally.
I did not exercise, I did not shop, I did not have lunch with friends, and…most of all…I did not cook. In the two months my mother was in the hospital, I cooked two meals, both breakfast/brunch. Which of course made me sad. I love my remodeled kitchen, and I love to cook.
But during that terrible, awful, depressing time, a wonderful thing happened. Actually a lot of wonderful things happened, but the one that is pertinent to this blog is that my daughter stepped in and filled my shoes. And she did so brilliantly, meaning that she is living up to her moniker.
With my commute to the hospital, and long hours there, I completely neglected my household duties. All my focus was on my mother and her recovery. But during that time, Mr. B and Brilliant Daughter trekked to the store every Sunday and did the shopping. And then my daughter would spend the day in my kitchen cooking a week’s worth of meals. She cooked enough for my stepfather, for our household, and for her own household. Wonderful soups, chicken potpies, enchiladas, pasta sauce, quiche Lorraine, and the list goes on.
It was a blessing.
It was love in the refrigerator.
Sunday cooking was a ritual that lived in our house while my children were growing up. I started it when they were in elementary school. I would shop on Sunday morning then spend 3 hours making 4 meals for the week, along with some sweet treat. Then no matter what we were doing—Little League, Girl Scouts, art classes, soccer—there was always a good solid meal to eat every night. Sometimes we were able to share it together at the table, sometimes we ate in shifts, but I always knew they were eating well and I didn’t have to stress over cooking in between work and carpool runs.
I developed a repertoire of recipes and now my daughter is developing her own. And during this family crisis, she showed she could run with the big dogs. Creating great meals out of surprises in the CSA box, learning to cook in large batches that could feed eight or more, and providing a lot of comfort food, something we all desperately needed.
While I have often thanked her, I’d just thought I would share how special she is and how lucky we all are to have her. I am one proud mama and she is one brilliant daughter.