My mother loved leftover night. I could never figure out why. Gross, wilted vegetables, all reheated in the microwave. Stuff we'd already enjoyed, leftover in the fridge turned from an appetizing dinner into gross goo that was sure to poison me if I ate it.
This aversion to leftovers carried me well into my adulthood. In my twenties we would either eat fresh dinner every night or eat delivery ... living on my own meant fresh dinner or cereal or salad for dinner, which suited me fine.
Moving in with The Man gave leftovers a small break -- his cooking is so awesome that I'd often like to eat leftovers for lunch at work the next day. But that was the limit. Not for dinner another night, no not me. Ok for lunch, but dinner had to be out, delivery, or something new and delicious.
I still maintain that most things taste best fresh, especially things that are vegetable heavy i.e. good for you.
But being a mom? Has finally convinced me that leftovers are a good thing. I love leftover night. Leftover night means coming home with my child and putting dinner in the oven and SITTING DOWN. Blogging. Knitting (you should see the sock!). Spending time with my child. And still eating something yummy.
Funny how things change, huh? I am getting more and more like my parents with every passing year. It's still scary in some ways but just plain amusing in others. Leftovers. Who knew?
1 comment:
Hee :)
It is amazing how much like one's parents one becomes. Just the other day I said to SP, in what conversational context I can't now recall, "Some-a day you be mommy, and then-a you understand." Which is what my mom used to say to me when I complained about , and her mom used to say to her, and (hence the accent -- Mommy Rose, my great-grandmother, was Sicilian) her mom used to say to her.
And you don't believe it when you're six and want to stay up to watch American Idol, or when you're eighteen and not phoning your mother often enough from university, or even when you're twenty-four and don't understand why your mom can't talk about your upcoming surgery without bursting into tears ... but the second they hand you that bright-red wrinkly new baby, it turns out it's all true.
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