I am kind of perplexed at the fact that, afforded an hour and a half home, alone, after school today, I chose to cook. Now, granted it is chicken, leek and rice soup, and smells heavenly, but still, why? I mean, I like to cook everyday, but sometimes, it is obsessive. Today, as soon as I realized I would be home alone for a while, I started thinking about cooking this ridiculous soup! Did I think about just relaxing in the quiet, with a book, a show, some music, or, perhaps even a glass of decadent afternoon wine? No. Instead I fantasized about slicing, stirring and sauteeing. Am I losing my mind?

OR am I truly, finally, and completely, becoming my mother? My mother will be thinking about what to have for dinner at breakfast. My mother's advice to me, after the birth of my children, was to start planning out and cooking dinner for my family around 2pm. My mother's cupboards could feed an army at a moment's notice. My mother is shocked that I do not keep dry milk in my pantry at all times. Although I am not exhibiting any of these puzzling traits, I am a bit afraid that it just might be a slippery slope. First you are excited to get home, to an empty house, to make soup. Next you find yourself "putting up" items for the possibility of Armageddon.

As my fortieth year progresses, I will have to monitor my behaviors, closely, and carefully, it seems.