A recurrent problem in my life as a wife and mother has been that suppertime often creeps up on me and catches me unawares. How can this be? I mean, it happens every day. You'd think I'd be better prepared for it.
Once I read an article by Rose Kennedy where she was asked her secret for feeding her large brood. "Long ago, I made up a menu for two weeks," she said, "and I have been repeating it ever since." She added, "Nobody has ever mentioned it. They don't seem to notice."
As in love with the simplicity of this idea as I am, I have personally never been able to pull it off. Not that anyone I ever should have fed regularly would have been more observant than the Kennedy Clan, but that designing and implementing the two-week menu has proven difficult. I have attempted it more than a couple of times but somehow gotten distracted somewhere between the writing and repeating. It seems to be a case of inner child rebellion. (My bratty inner child acts up a lot.)
Hope springs eternal. My mature self thinks it would be freeing to know what we're going to have for supper days in advance. Organized me thinks this way I could be assured of having all the ingredients that I need on hand. Frugal me adds that there would be less waste which translates into monetary savings, a delightful bonus.
Apparently the whole "me" committee is willing to give this this brilliant idea one more shot. My inner child will only cooperate if I allow her to bake cookies, but since it's December we all even agree with that idea.
Rose would be proud.
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