Hi, loves. 🌿

On the art of paring down

For any of us who live in parenting land, this time of year could best be described as The Onslaught. There is, of course, everything that needs to get done — the particular school supplies that need to be procured and the shoes that we learn at the last second are too small and need to be replaced and the forms that need to be filled out and the schedules that need to be ironed out and the carpools that need to be arranged. Every piece of advice for Moms (let’s be honest, it’s mostly Moms who are managing this, but shout-out to the Dads out there in the thick of it) is something to the effect of Take The Week Off To Manage The Chaos.

Forget that a lot of us can’t — I started teaching the day after my daughter started school — this isn’t even the hardest part. The hardest part is the emotional toll of the first week: the invariable meltdowns, the Very Big Feelings, the uncertainty, the free-floating anxiety (theirs and ours), the worry about how it will all work. That is not something one can really wrest control over because we do not know when it will rear its slobbery head (and it’s usually right before bedtime when you’re ready for Netflix).

At this point in my life, I swear I could write an entire column based on advice from my therapist (don’t worry, I won’t). This week, my hour was mostly spent in a fit of tears over all of this and more, and I could see her trying to pull something actionable out of the wreckage of feelings. This is sort of unusual — she is not particularly action-driven, which is why I love working with her. I am not terribly interested in solutions per se; I’m more invested in the process, of forging connections, of investigating all the murky layers. I want to be able to see and hold all the complexity, not iron it out. So when she wants me to take a particular step, I do listen.

“You’re only going to cook two meals a week,” she said. “Not forever, but for this season of life, that’s all you’re going to do.”

I’d been panicking about how I simply could not hold it all — work and parenting and driving and cooking and exercising and sleeping enough and writing my own book and and and — and rather than look for outside solutions, she pointed to something I had complete and utter control over: dinner.

How I like a dinner party to look.

Dinners have always held great value in our house — both in my own little family, and in my home growing up — but lately we’ve been experimenting with what this looks like. For a time we happily watched Gilmore Girls with bowls of soup in our laps; recently we moved from the counter to the dining room table, where we usually only feast with friends. But almost all these nights involve a home-cooked dinner by me.

Obviously I know I don’t need to cook every night, that this is some sort of patriarchal hangover. Plenty of friends serve Rao’s or frozen food or takeout to their families, and I don’t judge any of those choices. I have, historically, really enjoyed cooking — I sort of dig (?) meal planning, and I love seeing the pleasure on my husband and daughter’s faces when I nail it. (I do, though, get very, very annoyed when someone complains about any part of the meal, and one such incident prompted my then-first grader to make an apology note that I framed in the kitchen, which said: Mommy You Make Yumy Dinners EVRY NIGHT I love you.)

What if, my therapist seemed to be asking, I did not — for this period — ask this of myself? What if I made two big things on the weekend (or whenever) and we got by on those all week? What if I made a fend-for-yourself night or two? What if, during this time of life, this was not a requirement? What does this family need in this season of our life? What do I need, for crying out loud? Aren’t I in this family, too?

I promptly announced this (where else?) at dinner, and my husband and daughter sort of reacted as I imagined they would — with silent, guarded surprise — and my daughter immediately said, “Can this be one of the meals?” (We were eating Dawn Perry’s cumin flatbreads with ground beef, chickpeas and broccoli.) I said I’d make two big things — say, a lasagna and a bowl of lentils — and we’d go from there. I promised salad and bread, too, because I am nothing if not bad at pairing down.

I have no idea whether this will work, for me or for them. I was reared on the nightly family dinner, the importance of it, both in terms of time to connect and time to enjoy the actual food (my mother is a fantastic cook, and my father has become one in his retirement). I want, in theory, to be a person who can pull off cooking something new and delicious every night, and I’ve spent over a decade trying.

But there is something vital about acknowledging the reality of life as it is right now — and right now, it is chaotic and overwhelming and the schedule is sort of a mess. I have no idea how people with many children manage the after-school activity relay, but even with only one kid, every night looks completely different. It was a relief to admit that I could not be in front of the stove and also in a car, picking her up from dance class. It is usually a relief to look at things as they are.

How are you paring down this season?

Sending love,

Abs xo

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🌿 RECENT READS! Loved and Missed by Susie Boyt, Great Big Beautiful Life by Emily Henry (can someone discuss the EH phenomenon with me?); now onto The Road to Tender Hearts, which I’m loving.