When I was little and I’d ask, “What’s for dinner?” and my mom would say “We’re having leftovers,” I just about would throw a tantrum.
“Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!” I’d shriek in that whiny-brat voice.
I hated leftovers, hated the idea of eating the same food again. Ew.
Don’t get me wrong; I grew up fortunate. My mom always cooked delicious, balanced meals. There was no reason not to enjoy them the next day, or a week later.
We ate our dinners with milk. We could have seconds if we wanted them. And we sat down as a family as often as we could, even as our scheduled became jammed with cheerleading, dance, karate, etc.
But sometimes life got hectic, and my mom (bless her!) just wanted us to eat leftovers so they’d go away (especially if the freezer was stocked). Continue reading “Loving Leftovers”