I have always desired to be the woman who could provide a healthy, homemade meal for her family every night, and at times, when I am feeling more ambitious. I have striven to do so (apron and all); however, after a night or two (maybe even three on a good week), I get tired of slaving away in the kitchen after working all day and resort back to frozen bags of chicken and rice, spaghetti, or Kraft Mac N’ Cheese (I’ve got the blues…)
Then there is what I like to call “survival” weeks. In those weeks, I get desperate to avoid the kitchen all-together, so I order a pizza or Chinese food- even call my husband to grab some fast food on his way home. I have always felt a little guilty on “survival” nights because I feel I’m not doing right by my family.
Though, as the clock winds down on our duel income, I am starting to view fast-food from an entirely new perspective, and my waistline is exemplifying the viewpoint. McDonald’s cheeseburgers are no longer the symbol of working mom exhaustion; they are the emblem of income- just as ordering a pizza is contributing to the American economy as well as some college kid’s beer money (I really can justify anything). Seriously, I am starting to view eating out as a true luxury since I have convinced myself that we will not be able to afford anything other than the clearance rack of baked good items at Walmart. So, for the next four weeks, I will be serving up the fastest, greasiest, non-homemade meals and enjoying them guilt-free.