We were eating dinner the other night, spaghetti and meatballs, and Amy and I were talking about our days at work. Suddenly, Declan shouts out, “Mommy, these meatballs are amazing!”
A little while ago I got home early from work and so was there while Amy made dinner. She does this every night. After a long day of work in a place that is increasingly stressful for her. Every night.
She comes home and makes delicious meals. Sure, there’s the occasional frozen pizza, but most times it’s a hot, fresh homemade meal. Sometimes totally freestyle where she’s just making it up as she goes – and these tend to be my favorite. Sometimes from a recipe – though these directions are never followed precisely as she always knows how to put her distinctive, magical spin on it.
And all this she does, after work, with two kids under three who each demand attention underfoot – and in the case of Elsie, sometimes strapped-to-chest.
That day I came home early I watched this and was amazed.
It’s not just the meatballs that are amazing, but the woman who makes them and how she does it. And I suspect for Amy, these are not just dinners, but tangible ways for her to love us.
Thanks honey, for making these meals to fill us with love.
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