I wanted dinner to happen without my involvement

Dear Delyara, That was the fantasy at around five-thirty. Not takeaway, not a restaurant, not anything glamorous. Just one evening where food appeared, the children ate, nobody complained, and I was not the person carrying the emotional and practical weight of making that happen. Instead, it was the usual thing. What do we have? What can I make quickly? Who will refuse what? Is there enough for tomorrow? Do I have the energy for chopping? What’s easiest? What’s cheapest? What leaves the least washing up? That level of constant deciding gets exhausting in a way I don’t think people talk about enough. By the time dinner was served, I felt like I had already used the best part of myself on the question of it.