I get home from North Carolina on Sunday, and my husband has planned to have a pot roast. He makes the BEST pot roast (aside from my mother, more on that later). How kind and thoughtful of him. I talked him into pizza. He was disappointed, but gave in b/c he loves me and he didn't know quite when we would return. So the plan was Monday night...nope - class. Tuesday night...nope - forgot to put it in the crock-pot (woops). Wednesday night...nope - forgot again and then didn't have enough time to make it in the oven (did you KNOW it takes 2 hours to make a pot roast?!). By this time, we're a little concerned over the meat in our fridge and whether or not it will even turn out. Aaron is frustrated that we haven't had his favorite meal that we'd planned on for how many nights now...And then I start thinking about the fact that we have only had pot roast a handful of times in our marriage. And then I started thinking about the fact that Aaron has made all of those pot roasts. Why?! Who doesn't LOVE a perfectly moist pot roast with potatoes, carrots, onions with great seasoning...I know I certainly do.
But alas, all is well. We did have our pot roast. I got everything washed, cut up, seasoned to perfection and in the crockpot @ 10 a.m. Thursday. The plan was to eat before practice @ 7.
I was tinkering around the house all morning, but left in the afternoon for several hours. I walked into the house from being gone and BAM! It hit me like a brick wall. The aroma. And I immediately ached for my mom and my family and our old Nashville house when everything in life seemed difficult but really wasn't. Before the fire, before boyfriends, before siblings grew up and had families, before church drama, before my mortgage payment. Marmi is the best cook...seriously. I want to be just like her when I grow up. One of the meals she did best (especially on Sundays, but occasionally other times) was pot roast.
I realized that this is why I don't make pot roast...this aching feeling I have as I smell the aroma. Funny how God uses smells to remind us how much we love people. Funny the amount of emotion that can come from smelling something. I didn't mean to not make pot roast. Honestly, I didn't. I just...miss my family when we have it. Even as I sat down to eat it, I ached for my family. I tried to enjoy the moments with my new God-given family...Dillon trying to get the strings of beef out of his little teefers (that's what we call teeth), smiles and conversation we shared over dinner. But honestly, all I could think about was that large dining room table we had at the Nashville house, and how we would fight for a bench seat and who would have to fill up drinks. And the silly laughter and conversations...my dad is stinkin' hilarious, and I didn't appreciate it when I could have.
I miss my family. I hate being hundreds of miles away from them. And I probably won't make pot roast unless prompted, even though it's one of my husband's favorites (sorry, love).