When I Wanted to Lend a Hand, I Thought of a Chicken

home insemination Kit

Back in the day, growing up in New Jersey, my family made it a point to sit down for dinner at 6 p.m. sharp. My dad was busy with his paving job, while my mom was juggling school—working toward her BA and eventually her Master’s in art history. It wasn’t until I became an adult, living in California with my own family, that I realized how they managed to whip up a hot meal for my brother Tom and me every single night. Dinner was more of a team effort than a privilege—everyone pitched in.

My mom had a knack for making hearty one-pot meals that Tom and I affectionately dubbed “Sludge” (a less-than-appetizing mix of wide egg noodles, ground beef, and a mystery blend of frozen veggies) and “Death Warmed Over,” a chicken and rice combo that would have been decent if it weren’t for the copious amounts of lima beans. My dad handled the plating and clean-up.

A single pot of “Death Warmed Over” could carry us from Sunday through Wednesday. I distinctly remember my relief when the serving spoon finally scraped the bottom. But no matter how unappealing the food was, we all gathered at 6 to share our day’s stories—our triumphs, our failures, and everything in between. That was our time to connect.

If you weren’t seated at the table by 6 p.m., you had to explain your absence.

• “Driver’s ed with Mr. Johnson.”
• “Soccer match against Springfield.”
• “Delivering gravel.”
• “Researching the Renaissance!”

Showing up for family was a must. Once you had your napkin in your lap, you did your best to engage, even if you were a moody teenager or a worn-out parent. Jokes, anecdotes, and stories from the news were all fair game. Sometimes Tom and I would team up to crack our parents up.

Fast forward to today, and I’ve got a husband who grew up with dinners at 5:15 p.m. and our own two kids. Our schedules have us zipping around separately all day, and sometimes it feels like I’m just saying goodbye to my three favorite people.

“Goodbye! See you later! Have a great day!”

Until dinner time rolls around. We aim for 6, but sometimes it’s 7:30. I love hearing the latest scoop: who got in trouble at school, who has a crush, who scored a goal or defended one, and what they heard on NPR. Our dinners act like a magnet pulling us back together as the sun goes down. Often, we have an extra soccer player or a friend joining us around 6. Family dinner serves as a necessary gathering point.

Recently, my 8-year-old expressed a desire to slice cucumbers for our salad.

“Wow, aren’t these cucumbers delicious tonight?” he chirped once we were seated.

“You cut them, right?” his older brother chimed in. “Nice job!”

“Thanks for your help,” my husband added.

Last winter, when our neighbor got diagnosed with colon cancer, I wanted to offer support but wasn’t sure how. We did some carpooling, and their kids came over to hang out, but it didn’t feel like enough.

One Thursday, while picking up a chicken for dinner, I decided to grab another and roast it for them too. I dropped it off on their porch, still warm, just before dinner time. They texted their appreciation. Soon, I made it a routine to deliver a bird every Thursday. As their treatment shifted from chemotherapy to radiation, I started adding potatoes and veggies, all packed in an aluminum pan they could toss afterward.

I learned their Thursday routine and usually texted them a silly chicken joke or a simple “Cluck, cluck!” Eventually, weeks turned into seasons, and I never missed a Thursday.

What I prepared for my family, I also prepared for theirs. The meals were fresh, organic, and colorful, seasoned with love—chicken breasts, thighs, or a whole bird, along with baby potatoes, sautéed kale, or roasted broccoli. Sometimes I’d add a vinegary chickpea or lentil salad with plenty of scallions and parsley.

On one recent Thursday, I noticed their front door was open, and I found my neighbor and his son deep in discussion about Samuel Beckett’s plays (no kidding!). I handed over the pan and gave my neighbor a hug, two weeks post-op. His wife and daughter joined the conversation, making it heartwarming to see them all together. It truly made my day.

I didn’t stick around to see if they ate right away or saved it for later. Regardless, they could keep their discussion going without worrying about cooking or cleaning up. When hunger struck, they could just peel back the foil and enjoy.

As I walked home to my family, I felt I had made a small difference. I like to think that the dinner I dropped off serves as a family magnet for them, just as it does in our home. Instead of worrying about cooking and cleaning, on Thursdays, they can dive straight into spending time together—maybe even share a laugh, like Tom and I used to.

Since I started cooking for my neighbors almost a year ago, I’ve discovered that there’s something truly special about family dinners that involve two families. This Thursday, they’re off to friends for their Thanksgiving feast, but next week, I’ll continue our little tradition.

If you’re interested in exploring more about family dynamics and support during challenging times, check out this article about home insemination, which offers valuable insights as well. For couples navigating their fertility journey, this resource is fantastic. You can also find excellent support for pregnancy and home insemination at this support group.

In summary, the act of sharing meals can create bonds that extend beyond our own families, helping us feel connected and supported during difficult times. Whether it’s through a simple chicken dinner or a shared laugh, these moments bring us together, making life’s challenges a bit easier to bear.