Last day without mom – not even a full one as she’s back tonight sometime around 11pm. We’re “camped” close enough to SFO that we can watch her plane on approach if we go outside at the right time, so I think we’ll try to do that.
Instead of going shopping while Sharaun’s been gone I’ve been slowly working to maximize our existing food stores in the RV. I love doing this. It gives me a feeling of being efficient and I love efficiency. What’s more I feel creative when I can make something surprising with only what we’ve got. This morning I wanted to use the remaining eggs, and we had some bacon, the last couple slices of cheese, an unused onion and half a tomato so I decided to make the kids omelets.
I haven’t made an omelet probably since my first couple years of college when I was still living at home, and I don’t think either of the kids has ever really had one. It’s funny sometimes how there are things we tend to cook/make, and things we don’t, and how that varies from family to family or person to person. We don’t make a lot of seafood, even though Sharaun and I both like seafood. We don’t make omelets. Don’t make many casseroles. It’s not that we don’t have diversity in our repertoire – I guess it’s that you just get settled into a rotation or something. I suppose it has a lot to do with what was made in your home as you were growing up.
Anyway I made omelets for the kids, who were fairly taken aback that dad could execute cooking requiring such perceived technical skill. “Did you use a recipe, Dad?,” Cohen asked. No, I did not. “Dad, this is so good!,” said Keaton, obviously a bit surprised to be having the opinion. I overcooked Cohen’s (the first one I did) just slightly, had the gas turned up just a bit too high for the post-fold cook, but Keaton’s came out awesome. I used three eggs each, partially because we had six eggs left and I wanted to finish them and partially because I didn’t know if I could even make a proper omelet with just two eggs. Neither kid ate all theirs so I happily cleaned up the leavings as my own breaking of fast.
After cleaning the mess, which wasn’t too bad but for the splattered bacon grease, I felt good. Like, particularly good… surprisingly good. I had cared for my children, fed them foodstuffs so they would not starve that day, single-handedly knocked out a tier on Maslow’s pyramid. I had surprised them with a skill they didn’t know I had. And you know men and fathers and husbands and sons all deeply want, no, need!, their family to acknowledge their skills and smarts and provision. Dad can change the oil in the car, he can hang a picture straight, he can fix a leaky toilet, and he can even make an omelet!
There was this brief moment, just after I got started and had all the ingredients arrayed before me on the laughably small RV kitchen counter, where I became overwhelmed and a bit frustrated. This was too much; we needed to get school started and here I am needing to dice tomato and onion and fry and cut bacon and I’ve only got the one small frying pan and I’ll have to dirty two bowls and and and! It was going to take forever! I should’ve just made them toast and given them each a yogurt or sliced up our last apple.
But not giving up provided a sweet victory. This one little accomplishment, and the resultant praise from my children, set the day off on a wonderful note, a serious high! Still riding that high right now, in fact.
Hugs & love.