I’m pretty big into meal planning. This is relatively new — since Jameson was born, I guess. In the craziness of learning to juggle homemaker responsibilities and caring for a newborn, I discovered that having a meal plan for the week was a life saver. I always have the ingredients I need, because I use the meal plan to compose my grocery list, and if I have an unexpected free hour one morning or afternoon, I can bake or cook something I’ll need later in the week — and so the dinner rush doesn’t happen at 4pm. It’s awesome.
Except that suddenly just looking at my cookbooks makes me sick to my stomach. The Food Network induces nausea. And opening my fridge triggers my gag reflex.
So my menu plan this week?
Cheerios and bananas.
Homemade whole wheat toast.
Maybe a fried egg, if I need protein.
(Repeat as needed until the week is over.)
Oh, and sorry to the three girls who are flying all the way across the country to visit me. Hope you don’t mind doing your own shopping and cooking while you’re here.
I don’t love to clean. But I do love to live in a clean house. I also don’t love to do laundry, but like most anyone, we all seem to appreciate clean clothes. So I have a little routine that keeps all of those plates spinning, results in a clean house, and I don’t have to wait till I feel like it.
Except that lately, I can’t seem to muster up anything more than I don’t care.
Which means that at this point, I should probably use a heavy duty shop vac to vacuum my rugs.
But I promise, girls who are flying all the way across the country, that I will do what must be done before you arrive.
I’m a morning routine kind of person. No matter how long it takes, Jameson and I are dressed in decent outfits and groomed before we move on to the rest of the day.
Of course, this past week, Jameson’s decent outfit lasts about two hours. I’m not sure why, but the poor child never gets his pants back after his first diaper change of the day.
And I could cry over my constant nausea and not having anything for Ryan to eat; over the dust on my piano that is changing it’s shiny black gloss to a dull gray; over my poor child, who is taken to the store with bed head (but at least is at that point fully dressed.)
Or I can just smile, muscle through, and know that someday this, too, shall pass.
And in the meantime, three girls are flying across the country to see me. Did I mention that? Yes? Well. I’m afraid it can’t be helped. I’m awfully excited.