Cooking for Two

Welcoming the Osprey Nest

I was wandering the aisles of Costco on my usual Friday morning run today when I felt a sudden ache. I passed by the four-litre jugs of milk, the double pack of natural peanut butter, the big block of old cheddar. I wasn’t tempted by the oversized pie or the triple pack of Greek yogurt. Even the bag of Miss Vickie’s Sea Salt and Malt Vinegar chips stayed on the shelf.

I had thought a lot about how life might change when our son left for university, but I wasn’t prepared for the small, daily reminders of his absence. Grocery shopping, of all things, has become its own kind of reckoning. The grocery bill has shrunk. There are more leftovers now and I’m not buying in bulk. I’m freezing soups and sauces, meatballs and chili—things I never used to have to freeze because they were always eaten before I had the chance.

I’m re-learning how to cook for two, retraining my instincts on what it takes to feed just us—enough to feel satisfied, enough for lunch tomorrow, but not so much that the fridge feels too full.

It’s an adjustment, this new rhythm.

Simple spaghetti for two

My friend Meghan, one of the best mothers I know, told me she’s building an osprey nest for her son who’s away at school, not an empty one. Each year, ospreys add another layer to their nests, making them bigger and cozier. “That’s going to be me,” she said. “I’m never going to stop making home the best place for him.”

I like thinking of the osprey’s nest—how it grows heavier each year, layered with what’s been gathered and kept. Maybe that’s what I’m doing now, in my own way.

“Mom?” my son asked once, not long after he’d started school. “Do you get lonely when I’m at school all day?

I told him that I was okay, that he didn’t need to worry about me. But the truth was, I did feel lonely. I’d think about him at school and me at home, about how different the days felt when my children weren’t tethered to me—wanting me, needing me. Most days, I couldn’t wait for them to get home so I could hear their little voices in the hallway again. Of course, there were days I was bone-tired—keeping up with dinners and homework and the endless cycle of after-school activities, with colds and stomach bugs making their rounds from September to March. I longed for a clean kitchen, a moment to myself.

And now I have it. I’m not sure I love it yet, but I’m trying.

Shredded Brussels sprout salad with parm

Motherhood moves fast and slow all at once. And I’m adjusting in my own way. Re-learning how to shop and cook, how to love from further away, to rely on text messages and not seeing him every day, quick drop ins for dinner and a load of laundry. The house wakes up a little when he’s home. It feels fuller and more alive.

There’s a strange comfort in realizing that missing someone, is also proof of having loved them well. The house feels quieter these days, but not empty—just another layer in the nest we keep building.