Peas and Thank You

A Picture’s Worth 437 Words

There is a very long, moderately interesting story behind this picture.

I’m just not sure how much of it to share with you.  It will expose some ugly secrets about the Pea family.  And about me.

You deserve the truth.  Here goes.

Some days, I have no idea what to fix for dinner.

I look in our fridge, which is nearly bare since I haven’t been able to drive or wear eye makeup.  Okay, the makeup thing is irrelevant, but it had to be said.  I just can’t find inspiration with the bits and pieces that are left since our last grocery run, and though a kale salad with Lemon Roasted Pecan Dressing, cranberries and pumpkin seeds sounds delicious to me, Pea Daddy already has one foot out the door due to the mascara drought.  Gigi would happily eat kale salad for dinner though, which is just another of many reasons why she should be President.  Pink fluffy crowns at correspondents’ dinners is yet another.

So when I emailed Pea Daddy asking what he wanted for dinner and he said, “stroganoff,” I did my best to oblige.  I had to run to Target and pick up my 53rd vial of eye drops, and though I cringed with the ingredients I put in my cart: sour cream, white egg noodles, onion soup mix, I took one for the team. But I made them kale salads on the side.

Though it wasn’t my intention as I served up the somewhat curdled sauce over the very eggy-flavored noodles, I think I may have secured Pea Daddy’s place in vegandom.  I tried to take a picture of the congealed slop, but as soon as I switched on my camera and pointed it at the plate, it started making these dry-heaving sounds.  As did I.

It could have just been the permanent coat of artificial tears, but I misted up as I plated the gloppy, disgusting dairy-filled mess for my children and topped it with a few meatless meatballs.  I told Pea Daddy, “I feel horrible feeding this to you.”  I think he knew it wasn’t because it was ugly.  I think he knew it was because I felt guilty over the quality of the ingredients in their dinner, or the lack thereof.

I shouldn’t have worried.

The plates were on the table for about ten seconds before the complaints started.

“This looks gross.”

“It’s too gloppy.”

“Yucky.”

The “yucky” was Pea Daddy.  We’re working on expanding his vocabulary.

That was all it took.  “Not another word, from any of you!” I announced, not because I was angry, but just because I had the the green light I needed to swoop those plates off the table.

And that is how we had peanut butter and banana sandwiches for dinner.  With pink fluffy crowns and kale salads, of course.

To be continued…