My 38 year old life has been reduced to weekly menus that involve exorbitant amounts of pasta, chicken, and Hamburger Helper. Where once, even on week nights, I dabbled in wine reductions and gently sautéed vegetables of an adventurous nature, I now focus on figuring out the best way to make sure I’ve included something that my beanpole of a son will eat. I oftentimes mourn the loss of that life and all of the culinary freedom that it contained.
In a lot of ways a box of Hamburger Helper, easily prepared in less than 30 minutes, so accurately captures this season of my life. Not a lot of flavor, but easy to consume. Feeling stuck in a state of blandness, where the only escape from the monotony are the miles I’m pounding on the pavement and the occasional girls night out.
I don’t think this is how I envisioned this part of my life. Parceled out into work, sleep, eat, kids, maybe time with spouse in the form of TV because both of us are too wiped out to try and carry on intelligent conversation.
Does it get better from here? Is there spice left to be had in my prepackaged, processed life?