At which point exactly are diets supposed to hit adulthood? Please do fill me in, theres simply no excuse for my meals lately, especially yesterday. You really want to know, huh? Ok, ready? 2 boston kreme donuts with coffee for breakfast, 3 chocolate milano cookies + a chunk of brownie for lunch and, thankfully by some random intervention of sanity, lentils and rice for dinner. Yes I know, I'm ashamed of myself too. Its not a matter of weight loss, thankfully I'm over that (for now at least). But seriously!! That may have been acceptable for a hormone-pumped-adolescent but definitely not for someone staring 30 so close in the face.
In grad school around finals I'd locked myself up for days studying with a dozen donuts but that was almost 7 years ago!! I love veggies, meat and all things good for normal adults and its definitely no surprise that I love to cook but the problem is... I hate doing dishes! Thats my (quite literally) dirty secret. I know its not very adult-ish to complain about mundane chores that simply must be done like brushing, bathing and cleaning and yet this is my sentiment... inspite of owning a dishwasher. Theres no point of that stupid machine, except maybe an autoclave functionality. If we want to avoid dried up pieces of food (raw meat especially, yuck!) I have to wash everything manually anyway! It really is a tough situation, something I'd hoped would be fixed by getting married. No help there either, I usually have to rewash everything after the husband-dish-washing cycle is over.
Dishwashing is a process, first I go around collecting baby bottles and coffee mugs that always remain where ever the husband last was, which is to say-- everywhere around (and under) the house, then I unload the dishwasher with clean washed hands, squeeze antibacterial dishwashing liquid (because I'm not sure if dishwasher liquid is antibacterial) over the dishes in the sink, scrub off any dried up bits and then load the dishwasher. And since most nights I'm usually running around the house making sure my son doesnt kill himself flying off the couch, coffee table or staircase, that by the time its his bedtime I usually conk out too. So the dishes pile up till I'm ready, which typically isnt until a couple of days after the sink is filled beyond capacity or we're completely out of feeding bottles.
In an ideal world I would snap my fingers and everything would be done-- work and assignments won't cross the 5pm mark, the house always immaculately ready for the spot mother-in-law inspection, the sink empty, the clean bottle shelf always stocked, the toys so well organized that tripping and breaking bones is nary a concern and I'd spend hours playing with a son who keeps his feet planted on the ground. Sigh, reality sure bites.