I want a crock pot recipe for life. One that tells me exactly what amount of time I need to devote, in what order, to which activities, in order to achieve the ideal balance of flavors to make life delicious.
A recipe would tell me how to get Nicholas on a schedule despite the EIGHTY minutes a day I spend in the car dropping off and picking up Alex from preschool.
A recipe would tell me how to squeeze in making dinner, washing dishes, sweeping floors, and folding laundry, and still be able to read to kids and get a little writing done—even if I do have a sore throat and am not feeling my best.
A recipe would tell me how to get the kids to cooperate with the plan, and not spend the whole time whining and screaming at me and asking where T. J. is, and then bursting into heartbroken sobs when I tell them I don’t know. A recipe would offer me equivalents when commitments multiply without warning in conjunction with babysitting evaporating.
Most importantly, a crock pot recipe would be EASY. Because crock pot recipes are, by definition, easy.
Except the one I decided to make today, of course. The one that required browning every ingredient before it went in the crock pot, putting together a sauce to pour over, and so on. Which is perhaps a lesson for a woman who wants an easy answer to life.