A Union of One

I'm on strike, at least for tonight. After working late Jeff and I hung out with our son for a little while to get the low-down on his day. Afterward, we all meandered toward the kitchen to contemplate dinner. Within two minutes I found myself alone cleaning off the cabinets while the guys disappeared to different parts of the house to play. Needless to say, I didn't consider this an equitable situation at all (no matter what I said last night about dinner being my job), so I threw in the towel (literally) as I walked out of the kitchen. My next stop was Jeff's office where I announced I would not be cooking tonight. After explaining why, he agreed that I should take the evening off.

Huh...I didn't expect such a quick capitulation. I was gearing up the stubborn streak for a long haul but didn't have to dig my heels in after all. Bolstered by Jeff's words of "While I see I'm part of the cause, I fully support your strike tonight," I meandered to my computer and fired up a game. This feeling of playing a game before dinner, before blogging, before family time is novel, but not particularly interesting. Within a couple of rounds I navigated away from the game to check e-mail, catch up on Facebook, and compose this entry.

While I don't plan to give in on dinner tonight,(After all, I've already eaten a grilled cheese with provolone, mayo, lettuce, and tomato on pumpernickel paired with spinach and artichoke potato chips. Yum!) I'm sure the strike won't last long. It is hard to restrain myself from fixing dinner for several reasons. First, I feel guilty when I don't cook something decent. It seems to be a mother's job to make sure her child eats well, so when the boy is left to scrounge I feel I have failed somehow. (I know he won't starve, but instinct is hard to overcome.) In addition, if I cook something for myself it seems logical to feed everyone. (Tonight I was in luck and sandwich fixings were readily available. Since we all like our sandwiches different ways, I didn't feel obligated to make more than one!) Finally, I really like to cook. This is perhaps my downfall. I can say I'm going on strike; I can even walk out of the kitchen for awhile, but within a day or so I know my feet will carry me to the fridge and my hands will open it of their own volition. My eyes, too, will turn traitor and start scanning the contents for dinner ingredients. Alas, I would never make it as a teamster!

So, tonight I'll enjoy the games and leave the guys to their own devices, (The boy has already used his food radar to locate a package of cheese ravioli.) and tomorrow ... I hear chicken teriyaki stir fry beginning to call my name.