Ten thousand meals. That’s what I figure I’ve served my family over 30 years of marriage and 20 years of parenting. In the time it took to make all those meals, I could have written a novel, learned to play the piano or started a small non-profit. Instead, I fed my family.
Mostly, I was happy to do this. I puréed baby food, marinated tofu and peeled potatoes. I sent my two daughters to school with sandwiches wrapped in neatly folded biodegradable wax paper. I lit candles every night at dinner because I believed the supper hour held special curative powers that would bond our clan as well as keep vitamin deficiency at bay.