Tuesday, September 24, 2013

A Sign of True Familial Love

Tonight I came home after a full day at school, and two articles written between class, one for my campus newspaper, and the other a recipe I am cleaning up to be the first proper entry for this blog.  And what did I arrive in to but my mother, making dinner.

Not just any dinner, my dears.  She was sauteing portabella mushrooms.  Their aroma filled the kitchen, and she informed me that dinner would be sauteed chicken, mushrooms and asparagus on hearty bread, lovingly covered with a mornay sauce and then cooked in the toaster oven.  With a small salad of butter lettuce dressed with rice vinegar and olive oil.  It was magical.

Perhaps - aside from the fancy dinner - this does not sound unusual to you.  Mom always cooks dinner.  But these days, my mother making dinner on a weeknight is a special treat.  My parents and I have a special as-yet-unspoken deal - my tuition is paid and my doctors' bills covered, and I live at home, commute to school, buy the groceries, keep the house relatively tidy, and cook the meals on a regular basis.

My mother's boss has forgotten she is part-time.  These days she works full time every day of the work week, along with doing all the little tasks, errands, and keeping all the appointments one must keep to keep a house like mine with a yard like Eden running.

So to come home after a half hour of all the yahoos and lunatics rush hour turns ordinary citizens into, trying to keep my car on the road and my mind on Welcome to Night Vale...  to a thoughtfully made, savory dinner that hasn't turned into a hearty brick of regret in my gut not two hours after dinner began is a treat indeed.

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