Kitchen Burnout

Not so long ago, I used to cook varied, balanced meals from scratch every day. Granted, they weren't healthy or anything -- I have always cooked like a southern woman from the '60s, so there was no shortage of fat and salt and vegetables cooked until the vitamins gave up and moved out. Still, my family always got a meat, a starch, two vegetables and a hot bread. That was back when I gave a damn.

These two remaining kids get the old wornout dishrag of a mother and think tacos are a wholesome home-cooked meal. They're going to look back on their childhoods and reminisce about the delicious aroma of Hamburger Helper wafting from Mom's kitchen. They think cooking from scratch is clawing open a bag of frozen french fries.

Not that they deserve better, the ungrateful little bastards. Everything I cook seems to fall into one of these categories:

1. Yuck, I hate that;

2. We had that for lunch at school today; or

3. Mmmm, that sounds good! I'm not going to be here.

So I'm not inspired to spend a lot of time preparing meals. Until that day in the distant future when my interest in culinary matters returns, my main criteria for meal planning will remain

"Can I start it during one commercial break and serve it during the next?"

and (the bottom line)

"Will it make a turd?"