An Ode (a defense of?/) to Dinner

I was listening to an episode of This American Life from a few weeks ago, and there was a quote about how rooted in time human lives are. So much of our time and mental energy goes into planning for the future, for a new job, or a marriage, a special event, a graduation, a trip. These are the signposts by which we measure our journey. It is a strange experience to have them suddenly removed, and not for any other significant event, but to stay home. To stay home, repeating the same options over and over again - watch Netflix, cook dinner, start a project, talk to your household, repeat. It essentially forces everyone to live in the present because the future has been removed. There is no future, there is no past -- no day but today. We are all living our own personal version of RENT, The Musical. 

(Side note - if you didn’t get that RENT line, go listen to this song. It’s so great. You’re welcome.)

It’s impossible to plan right now. Will I be able to take a trip this summer? This Fall? Next year? Will my kids go back to school? Or not? The options continue, but the clarity does not appear. It won’t appear, until the moment where it happens. I have developed this resistance to talking about future plans because I don’t know. I don’t know so much. I felt really differently a month ago than I do today. How could I possibly anticipate my own opinions, much less the options available under government orders and safety guidance? Might as well focus on dinner. 

I’ve seen all the memes about not being able to decide what’s for dinner one more time. I get that. I’m going to do a couple weeks of a meal delivery service so I can have a break because I too have decision fatigue. This is a real phenomenon. We wrote about it on our old blog here. You can see actual experts talk about it here and here.  You might think that these more intense situations of decision fatigue do not apply to the never ending question of what’s-for-dinner, but I disagree. It’s the feeling — the inability to decide anymore.

At the same time, dinner is an anchor for me. I love having dinner as a family. I love cooking dinner as a family. It’s a daily ritual that lets me create a distance, a transition, between work and family life. I love to do the act of creating something for them as a demonstration of love. I like the fact that when I cook dinner, I start and finish a project and then get to enjoy it all in one stretch. It’s immediately -- literally, satisfying, unlike the longer projects I often do for my volunteer or work life. It’s my personal time, it’s my creative outlet most days, it’s my personal daily validation that I’m doing a good job as a mother. Not that if you don’t cook dinner I think you aren’t. It gives me pride to feel like I’ve implemented the ritual of family dinner that I grew up each day with for my own kids, in my own way. 

I look forward to when dinner isn’t a crazy rush to handle the toddler. He eats like a madman and then demands to be done to roam the house, get into everything, and make a mess. It’s hard to relax or really listen when you are trying to catch peas flying from tiny hands. But this chaos is our chaos, and making him a part of dinner is how he will learn to act like he is part of dinner. So pea-catch I will, for a while. 

Dinner gives time meaning right now. Weekends do not, although now that I’ve returned to work, they are emerging again from the haze of the days. I know that as my kids return to Primrose Monday through Friday, that will give our weeks shape again. There will be the rhythm of work days, getting ready, and coming home. The slow pace of weekend life, where we don’t have to be anywhere, since our social calendar is so open now. I look forward to this routine, and I mourn the loss of this free flowing time where there was time enough for everything. The luxury of time was not lost on me. But while we have been in the formless void of time during the stay home orders, dinner was the marker of time. It was the daily signpost of life passing, of time together, of meaning during each flowing unmarked day. 

We love to travel, and normally our calendar is booked out with trips, birthday parties, date nights, and family get togethers. I enjoy all of those things, and every few days, I think of some past event, or my calender pops up a reminder of something I’m not doing, and I am overcome with grief for the days of lunch with a friend at a restaurant for a few moments. And yet, this pause has not been without its benefits. We have spent so much more time just playing together in the yard (nothing else to do) and making the most of it. There is a piece of me that wonders if there might be more joy and meaning found right here at home, in our yard, especially while they are so young. Or maybe we can appreciate it more because we do travel. The novelty of home life has not worn off for us. 

I recognize our privilege - we have had financial setbacks during this time as business owners, but we are still able to provide for our family. We have a strong support system of friends and family. Our employees and customers have been so gracious, understanding, and supportive. It really does remind me how fortunate we are. 

So here I am, just cooking dinner. Tonight, I made Korean short ribs, carrots, daikon, and rice for dinner. It’s a new recipe; this is what counts as adventure today. Tommy will be home from work soon, and I need to finish the dinner. Here’s the recipe.