What's for dinner?

It's the question of the day, every day.

Me?

I hate cooking.

I love eating, but I hate cooking.

I also hate the clean-up, which partially contributes to my extreme dislike of meal production.

Take into account picky eaters with diverse palates and my kids' everpresent need to fidget and remove themselves from the dining table for something every five minutes and I'm left with zero desire to slave over a fancy meal that will be pushed around the plate and with only a few complained about bites taken.

Still, I cook, and we sit, and we eat together because it's of uber importance for us to gather and connect and, well, stay nourished.

But, here's the thing...

It doesn't matter one hoot what the hell you're serving,

if your plates and bowls are from Macys or Family Dollar,

if the look of your finished dish is Instagram worthy,

if you prepped all day for the meal or pulled it together in the matter of a few minutes

or

if your kid likes it or that he takes more than a couple of bites.

What matters at dinner time isn't the food; it's the people with whom you are lucky enough to share it with.

I might detest being asked "what's for dinner?" each day because, heck, most days I'm just impressed with myself that we've all made it to 7 pm in one piece, but I remain grateful to have

money for food,

a kitchen to cook it in,

a table to place it upon,

good company to sit around that table,

and, after a busy day,

the ability to fill my belly and my heart at the same time.

I may hate cooking, but I love the people for whom I cook and, so, here we go again for the 2,920th time.