I was sincerely looking forward to coming home tonight and making spicy chicken wings for dinner.
Wings, black beans, broccoli, and I decided for good measure – a beer.
The simple, satisfying meal was made even better by being enjoyed out on our three-season porch. The warm setting sun, the hot food, the cold beverage, the family around the table, it really was a slice of vacation in the middle of the work week.
Just as I was about to sink my teeth in, my four-year old asked, “Mom, what’s that dipping sauce for your chicken wings?”
“Blue cheese dressing,” I said.
“Oh, how did you make it?”
I smiled – taking in a proud Mom moment that my kid assumes that if there’s something new on our plates that I (or his Dad) must have made it.
“This time buddy, the dressing came from a bottle.”
“What kind of bottle?”
“A plastic one.”
“Oh, that’s weird.”
I’ve decided to bank this moment, for a time when I rob myself of my own courage, and am left feeling can-do bankrupt. My kid believes that I know how to make things, and I know, not so deep down I do, too.
Also, I need to remember to ask my Mom for her blue cheese dressing recipe. 🙂