I woke up this morning wondering the question that every person who has ever been responsible for feeding a family has asked at some point: What in the world am I going to make for dinner? The crazy part was it wasn’t even 7am and Gerald was asking about dinner and Charlie was hangry.

And, Buttercup, I still don’t have an answer. The other day I bought biscuit and thought we might make biscuit pizza’s. Sounds easy, right? Well… It didn’t sound good today. Then I thought, Okay, we have the Rotel dip. We were actually supposed to have it the other day, and I bought the chips for it.

But guess what? That didn’t sound good either. So I called David. And David, bless his heart, actually wanted the Rotel dip. But I overruled him. Because I decided I wanted fried chicken. Not any ol’ Fried Chicken but the Chicken my dad used to make that was so good it was slap yo’ mamma good..

But Fried Chicken Belongs on a Bone I had Boneless Chicken Breast not on the bone. Buttercup that might have been fine for Charlie and David and Gerald but not for me. I didn’t want Chicken Fried Chicken I wanted Ol’ Fashioned Chicken on the bone that its good enough I will even eat leftovers.

Let me explain something. For me, fried chicken belongs on a bone because that is how my grandmother, and my parents made it. There was no, such thing as Boneless Chicken back when Dinosaurs roamed the face of the Earth as Charlie likes to tell me over and over.

Buttercup, that’s fried chicken. Not boneless. Not little pieces of chicken pretending to be something they’re not. I’m talking about the kind of fried chicken my daddy made. The kind you dredge, fry, and cook in grease like Crisco that I don’t need and you eat off the bone.

But then there’s Charlie. Charlie does not like meat on a bone. I know I know I have no, clue where this child came from but I pick my battles and just buy both types of meat. So naturally, if I’m making chicken for the family, we’re having to negotiate. And now my beautiful vision of my daddy’s fried chicken has somehow turned into…

Chicken strips. I suppose technically they’re still chicken. But I’m not convinced they’re true fried chicken. Poor David. He thought he was going to come home and butterfly the chicken breasts, dredge them in flour and milk, and fry them for me. And preferably without eggs.

Because that’s how I wanted it. Four chicken breasts. Four people. Except when I looked at those four chicken breasts, I started thinking about how little chicken that actually looks like when you put it on a plate. But then David said he could Butterfly then and that took me back to the Fried Chicken.

But there is Charlie and now I’m trying to talk David into cutting them into strips. Because if you cut four chicken breasts into strips, suddenly it looks like there’s more food. This is the kind of mathematical problem I can get behind. And if I need even more chicken, I have two bags of Banquet chicken strips sitting up in the freezer we can add to dinner.

Because who knows? Charlie may decide he doesn’t want chicken at all. And then there’s Junior, who is leaving for a game today. So who knows what he’s going to eat? At this point, I don’t even know what dinner is going to look like. Nor, do I care as long and someone else does the cooking so I can work.

I don’t know what shape the chicken will be. I don’t know how much chicken we’re going to have. And I’m not entirely sure the chicken is even going to get done. Of course, I took out some chicken-flavored noodles. They look like egg noodles, and I thought they would be easy to make alongside the chicken.

Because David told me he wants to learn how to make all kinds of pasta. So I’m helping him. LOL Because apparently teaching somebody to cook pasta also means changing dinner plans approximately seventeen times before dinner even starts at least in my home that’s how it works.

But I’m proud of him for wanting to learn. And I’m happy to help. Even if I’m standing in the kitchen going: “No, not that one. Try this one.” And Then There Is the Corn I also thought about making Mexican corn. Except now I’m looking at the chicken and noodles and thinking…

Does Mexican corn even go with chicken and noodles? Maybe. Maybe not. So then I started thinking about green beans. That would make more sense. Except… I only have store-brand green beans. And I’m picky. There. I said it. I’m picky. What can I say? I grew up eating Del Monte and Green Giant. That’s what I know. That’s what I like. That’s what I want. Don’t judge me. Sometimes you just know what green beans are supposed to taste like.

Meanwhile, I’m Supposed to be working And while all of this is happening in my head, I’m also sitting here thinking: How many more blog posts am I supposed to write today? Do I need to write another one? Do I need to go through emails? Is there something important sitting in my inbox?

Or… Is it Friday afternoon? Because let’s be honest. Who wants to work nine to five on a Friday? Not me. And wouldn’t you know it… It’s also Dolly Parton Day. So maybe that’s a sign. Maybe Dolly would tell me to stop working and enjoy my Friday. And frankly, I’m willing to listen to Dolly.

Today has already been a lot and I’ve already had two phone calls today. One was from my best friend, who was having a major breakdown. Sometimes being a friend means putting everything else aside and listening. The other call was from Renee, who is working on my website.

And let me tell you… OMG. It looks so pretty! I wish you could see it. After everything I’ve been through with the site, seeing it come together and look beautiful makes me happy. It’s one of those moments where you stop and think, Okay. Maybe all of this work really is going somewhere.

Maybe I don’t need to figure everything out today So here I am. Trying to decide whether we’re having fried chicken, chicken strips, Rotel dip, biscuit pizza, chicken noodles, Mexican corn, or green beans. Trying to decide whether Charlie is even going to eat chicken.

Trying to figure out what Junior is doing before he leaves for his game. Trying to remember what the dogs have been up to. Trying to decide whether I should work on the blog. Trying to decide whether I should answer emails. Trying to decide whether Friday afternoon should actually involve work.

And you know what? Maybe I don’t have to figure all of it out. Maybe I can just place it in the Lord’s hands. Dinner will get figured out. The chicken will either be chicken strips or something resembling fried chicken. David will learn another pasta. Charlie will either eat chicken or he won’t.

Junior will get where he needs to go. The dogs will survive whatever they have gotten themselves into. The blog will still be here. The emails will still be there. And tomorrow will come. Sometimes real life is just real life and that is where I am not only today but everyday.

I think sometimes we get so caught up in trying to have everything organized, planned, productive, and perfect that we forget something. Real life isn’t always organized. Sometimes you wake up and don’t know what’s for dinner ans sometimes the meal you planned doesn’t sound good anymore.

Sometimes fried chicken turns into chicken strips because that’s what works for your family. Sometimes you have to substitute the vegetables because the only green beans in the pantry are the ones you don’t particularly like. Sometimes your son takes two hours in the shower.

Sometimes you have a friend who needs you. Sometimes somebody is learning to cook. Sometimes your website finally starts looking the way you’ve dreamed it would. And sometimes… you just need to stop and breathe. You have to remind yourself its okay to just sit for a moment.

Today, I’m going to try to do that. I’m going to check on Charlie. I’m going to find out if he’s actually going to eat chicken. I’m going to see what the dogs have been doing. I’m going to let David figure out what we’re doing with those chicken breasts. And then maybe I’ll decide what else needs to be done.

Or maybe I won’t. Because it’s Friday. It’s Dolly Parton Day. No, where does it say I need to work 9 to 5. My website is looking beautiful and I can say thank the LORD for Renee Brown. My family is here. And dinner will eventually be dinner. So for now…

I’m putting it in the Lord’s hands. And if anybody needs me later, I’ll probably be standing in the kitchen asking: “David, what did you do with the chicken?” Although I might not even do that. You might find Pheobie and I hunkered down under the blankets watching tv and that’s okay to.

Grateful, Thankful, and Blessed,

GreatfulMoments.com

Glenda, Charlie and David Cates