By I batch-prepped on Sunday afternoon and finished early because Brandon now operates the vacuum sealer, which is a development I am still adjusting to. The week was a summer week, the kind where the light through the kitchen window arrives at a particular angle and the freezer hums in a different register depending on the temperature in the garage. I made notes in my prep notebook on Sunday afternoon, the way I always do: meal name, ingredient list, cost per serving, prep time, freezer instructions. Twenty-eight bags. Two hours and eleven minutes. A little slow this week, by my standards, but Brandon was helping and the conversation was good, and I have learned, slowly and against my own grain, that the conversation is sometimes the point and the time is sometimes a courtesy I extend to my husband for being willing to chop onions on a Sunday afternoon.
The children are doing what they do, which is the central report of every week of my adult life. Ethan, 20, is in the Philippines on his mission. He sends emails on Mondays. I read them on Mondays. The day is now structured around his email. Olivia is 18, at BYU studying elementary education — the path she chose at age seven and has not deviated from once. Mason, 15, is in Brazil on his mission. His weekly emails are short and full of jokes. He does not write much about the work. He writes about the food. Lily is 13, in high school, asking the kind of questions in Sunday School that make the teachers uncomfortable, which I find difficult and also, secretly, admirable. Noah is 11, the comedian, the performer — the kid who does an impression of my disappointed face in front of company, and gets away with it. That is the family report. I do not have a system for these reports. I just listen and remember and call back when I said I would call back, which is most of the time and not all of the time, and the difference between most and all is the territory of motherhood.
The recipe of the week was BLT pasta salad, which I have made some specific number of times in my life and have refined to a system that I now hand to other people in printed form. The version I made this week fed eight, cost under fifteen dollars, and required twenty-six minutes of active prep, which is within my requirements and not a coincidence. I labeled every bag — meal, date, reheating instructions, servings — because future-me is the woman I am writing for, and future-me is tired. I have stopped explaining the freezer-meal philosophy to people who already follow my work, and I have stopped apologizing for it to people who do not. The philosophy is simple: tomorrow is coming whether you are ready or not. You can either be ready or not. I pick ready.
Brandon and I sat at the kitchen island on Thursday night and did not talk much, and the not-talking was a language we built in therapy and have refused to unlearn. We have been married a long time. The arithmetic of it is the arithmetic of my whole life. There were years we missed each other in the same room, and there are years we find each other in the silences, and this is one of the latter, and I am old enough now to know that the latter is the achievement and the former was the cost.
Twenty-eight bags. Labeled. Dated. Stacked. The week, in the only currency that matters in this house.
The BLT pasta salad was the headline this week, but Cashew Pea Salad is the recipe I keep returning to in the margins — the one I add to the rotation when I need something that comes together fast, travels well, and requires almost no explanation to future-me. It fits the same philosophy as everything else in that freezer: it is ready before the tired sets in. Brandon likes it cold, straight from the fridge, and that is recommendation enough for me.
Cashew Pea Salad
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 2 (10 oz) packages frozen peas, thawed
- 1 cup whole salted cashews
- 1/2 cup sour cream
- 1/3 cup mayonnaise
- 1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
- 1 teaspoon sugar
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/2 cup red onion, finely diced
- 4 strips bacon, cooked and crumbled (optional)
- Salt to taste
Instructions
- Thaw the peas. Spread frozen peas on a clean towel and pat dry. You want them thawed but not wet — excess moisture will thin the dressing.
- Make the dressing. In a large bowl, whisk together sour cream, mayonnaise, apple cider vinegar, sugar, garlic powder, and black pepper until smooth. Taste and adjust salt as needed.
- Combine. Add the peas, red onion, and cashews to the bowl and fold gently until everything is evenly coated. If using bacon, fold it in last.
- Chill. Cover and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes before serving to let the flavors come together. The cashews will soften slightly — add a handful of fresh ones just before serving if you prefer more crunch.
- Label and store. Keeps refrigerated up to 3 days. Not recommended for freezing — the cashews and dressing don’t hold up. This one lives in the fridge rotation, not the freezer stack.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 260 | Protein: 8g | Fat: 17g | Carbs: 18g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 280mg