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How Can You Beat That

With An Eggbeater

By Margaret BrennanPublished about a year ago Updated 11 months ago 4 min read
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Being a divorced mother of two for more than a decade, I was used to cooking things that I could either make in a hurry or prepare and freeze to thaw the next day. I prepared many freezable meals on the weekends when I had more time. Being in that situation, I found it necessary to work one full time job and one part time. After working my full-time job, I had the time to hurry home, fix dinner to share with my sons, and then race back out to my part time job.

Any meals that required more time and attention were reserved for weekends, or at least the weekend when we weren’t visiting my parents (or them, us). I found during this time that my sons were just like their mom – very fussy as to what foods they ate. That made cooking a bit more complicated, but we managed.

Then, our lives changed. My sons were no longer preteens. They were adults over the ages of twenty-one. While both sons were dating, my young son was more serious about the young woman he’d been seeing for almost a year. My older son, however, dated only when he had the inclination. He was more interested in playing street hockey with his friends.

Our dinners together were now hit-and-miss. Despite the lack of family meals, we were still a close family unit that tried to share meals at every opportunity.

I was, by that time, in a position where two jobs were no longer needed. For me, it was a rough adjustment. When I wanted to be home with sons, I had no choice but to work the two jobs. Now that they were older and more out with their friends than home, I was home when they weren’t. At least, we still had the kind of relationship where they came to me for advice, or just to talk. Yes, we were still close.

As weeks and months raced by, I met a widower who asked me for a date. To be perfectly honest, I doubted if I should accept or not, yet I accepted with the intention of cancelling should my sons show any signs of discomfort or disapproval. They didn’t. In fact, they encouraged me to get out and have some fun.

In a way, I guess you could say my future was set. We enjoyed the date, and planned another, which led to another. By the end of that year, he asked my sons if they had any problems if he asked me to marry him. My sons were pleasantly agreeable. Actually, they were completely encouraging. They were both eager to move on with their lives but hesitated because they didn’t want to leave their mother alone. My young son and his girlfriend had begun talking about marriage but agreed to hold off until they knew I’d be okay without them. My older son enjoyed his freedom and hoped one day to move into his own apartment.

As I said, the new man in my life was a widower. He had two young adult children, a son and daughter. They also eagerly looked forward to their father getting settled with his life. His daughter happily announced that it would be great having an older brother for a change. She laughed and said, “No, not one older brother; I now have two!”

Things went well, and with the blessings of the four children, Rich and I were married.

Our first night after our honeymoon, I stood in the kitchen, and began preparing dinner. I wanted to impress my new family. Not wanting to mess up dinner, I pulled out my recipes and made meatloaf. It wasn’t a favorite of my sons but at least they would eat it.

As we sat at the large kitchen table, I noticed my new “son” examining every forkful of the meatloaf. I was beginning to worry. Did I miss an ingredient? Did I over salt it? Or under salt it? Too much onion? Not enough? What did I do wrong?

I had to know.

“Ah, Rick, is something wrong with the meatloaf?”

“No, it’s great! It’s perfect. I was figuring out what you put in it.”

It was at that point that my new husband spoke up. “Oh, my fault, I should have told you. Rick is a graduate of culinary school.”

My jaw must have dropped open and I felt defeated. Here I was unknowingly trying to impress a professional chef!

Rick stood up, walked behind me, wrapped his arms around me and said, ‘Don’t worry, I couldn’t have made it better if I tried. It was perfect!”

Then he sat down and ate every morsal on his plate and even went back for seconds.

My biggest problem, he said was the gravy. I confessed that it was from a jar because no matter how hard I ever tried, my gravy always tasted lumpy and floury.

He laughed and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you. It’s not as hard as you think.”

And, the next day, I learned how to make gravy.

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About the Creator

Margaret Brennan

I am a 76 year old grandmother who loves to write, fish, and grab my camera to capture the beautiful scenery I see around me.

My husband and I found our paradise in Punta Gorda Florida where the weather always keeps us guessing.

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