Before leaving for my almost week-long training in Michigan, I made a scrumptious breakfast casserole. The kind that everyone in my family will eat. There are never any leftovers. The children sing my praises when I bring out this dish. I feel so accomplished as a homemaker when all of the food is gone.
The morning I was leaving, I scurried around and got myself packed, Meredith to volleyball camp, Locke was at a friend’s house, and Barrett was at work. Scott was at home getting ready to go to his office and had just finished a bowl of cereal. Now what should I do?
There were clothes that needed folding, the dishwasher needed unloading, and a few other household chores that needed attention in the 30 minutes I had left before I needed to leave.
I fixed a beautiful breakfast casserole.
I can’t explain it. There was no one at home to eat it. It was an emotional need of mine to cook. I was compelled to cook. I had to laugh when it finally hit me, I was cooking this for me, though I wouldn’t eat a bite. Hopefully, someone will heat it up while I’m away.
If they go hungry while I am gone, it’s not my fault. There is a lovely, cold egg casserole in the fridge.