Sunday evening

Its a crisp 48 degrees outside, this winter seems to stretch on forever. The window above the kitchen sink frames a pale grey sky as dusk creeps up on this southern Sunday evening. It's almost dinner time, with the kids all settled in on their phones or video games. I put my games face on and step into my practical little kitchen. Tonight its fried chicken. I'm thinking to myself I may surprise my husband and add homemade biscuits in with the creamy mashed potatoes and Brussels smothered in butter and garlic. Ripping the hair tie off my wrist I wrap my hair up in a messy bun and begin to prep.

An electric guitar fills the room breaking the silence. I crank the radio up to 12 and hum along to my favorite rock song as I wash my hands and move on to wash the chicken.

I know I have about ten minutes before one kid or a other barges in to start the repetitive "is it done yet" nightly ritual so I work quickly. Swaying my hips to the beat thumping through the speakers I set the chicken aside and begin washing and peeling the potatoes. This always reminds me of Mom, her showing me how to quickly and carefully peel and remove the eyes. My knife joins the sounds of a kitchen alive with music, the burbling of water boiling, and the hiss of oil waiting hot and ready. Growing up this was one of my absolute favorite meals, I can never really do justice to Moms chicken but I do pretty decent, she taught me well.

Steam is rolling out the pot as I plunk the potatoes in. My oil is heating and the fun part begins. Dumping the flour into a bowl i start throwing seasoning in shaking the little cylinders in time with my hips. Already i can smell the spices and my stomach rumbles in response. On the radio a new song swells into its opening chords, little specks of flour escape the bowl dusting my shirt and the counter tops as I stir the mixture. Little bubbles roll from the bottom of my trusty cast iron pan, Every southern woman's secret weapon in the kitchen. It's ready to fry.

"Momma, I'm hungry! When will it be time to eat?" As predicted my youngest girl pokes her head around the corner and asks with a lopsided toothy grin on her face.

"Soon baby, have you finished your homework?" I ask as I dredge the first round of chicken first through a frothy egg mix then the seasoned flour before setteling it in the hot oil. As a reply she dashes back into the other room, presumably to finish the dreaded math work for the night. I've just bought myself another 5 minutes.

Just as I return the lid to my pot of brussel sprouts my teenage daughters bumble in, sly grins on their faces, blue eyes like their father's lit with mischief. In unison the girls break into peals of laughter. Their giggles cause an easy smile to spread across my face, although bewildered by the laughter it still lights my heart.

"Are we having fried chicken or did you plan to jump into the pan?" The sassy one manages to choke out as the sarcastic one snaps a picture of my face using iPhone glued to her hand. My face, chest, and entire front of my faded denim pants are covered in white. Now it's my turn to laugh, theirs mingling with mine and feeding the laughing frenzy. Gripping my side with one hand I flip the chicken and grab the hand towel to clean up.

By now the aromas from the stove top has drawn my son from his cave, reminiscent of a cartoon floating after his nose. My husband is hot on his heels, a d boy can he still make my heart flutter. My mind drifts to thoughts better left unsaid until the lights go out and I put them all to work. The sounds of clanging silverware, clinking glasses and senseless chatter fill the house as my family works to set the table. I'm almost finished, my heart full and stomach waiting and empty. I'm reminded the best meals come from a cook whose secret ingredient is love.

One by one I fill their plates careful to give this one extra potatoes and that one extra sprouts. Wiping up my work station before I settle into my chair, I take one last look around the table at my family and the wonderful meal we have. Feeling blessed beyond words we bow our heads linking hands to pray and thank God for providing us with all we need.

Sometimes cooking dinner seems like such a chore but not tonight. Its Sunday evening and I'm right where I should be, surrounded by my wonderful family with a plate full of comfort food. Joy spilling over the steady conversation, broken only to take bites, I sit back and lazily chew. Another successful night in front of the stove under my belt. Dinner is served.