Dancing in the Kitchen

To set the scene: It’s Monday around 5:30 p.m., I got home a little while ago after having to stop at the grocery store to get laundry detergent and have changed into comfy clothes—Red Sox shirsey, sweatpants, and slippers. I’ve turned on my running earbuds and connected them to my phone and started playing the “Happy Mix” playlist on Spotify, the one that’s curated by the app based on what you’ve been listening to. I pull out all of the ingredients needed to make dinner and get started.

Mondays are one of my nights to make dinner for Josh and I. We broke up who makes dinner based on our work schedules. He gets home later than I do Monday through Wednesday, so I’ll make dinner those nights, while he makes dinner for us on Thursdays (I go into work and he has the day off), and we’ll typically make dinner together on the weekends. (Friday nights are still date night with my parents.)

When we plan out our meals for the upcoming week, I don’t mind cooking something on Monday after work, while on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, we’ll have leftovers. (Leftovers have been a big help with cutting back on our total cooking time and our budget for grocery shopping.) The past few weeks, I’ve found that having that alone time to cook after work has been nice. It gives me time to decompress, and I feel pretty accomplished after making dinner.

I joke with Josh that I’m a good 1950s housewife who has dinner ready for him when he gets home from work. We made sure to break down who makes dinner based on our schedules before he moved in, and our rule is that whoever doesn’t make dinner does the dishes after, so one person isn’t doing everything. I also know that one of my love languages is acts of service, so making a meal is one way that I like to show my appreciation and love.

While I was cooking, I was having a full out dance party. Thankfully I live on the second floor, so you can’t really see into my kitchen window. It was a fun way to pass the time and enjoy my bit of alone time before Josh came home from work.

Here’s the final product of our dinner: chicken and broccoli alfredo!

I always have chicken cutlets on hand, so I thawed two in the fridge while I was at work. I cut them into pieces and seasoned them and cooked them in the pan for about 7 minutes. While the chicken was cooking, I started the pasta. I used frozen broccoli that I steamed in the microwave—it was on sale this past week. Once the pasta was done and drained, I added it to the pan with the chicken along with the broccoli. I spooned in about a third of a jar of alfredo sauce and let the pan cook on low until we were ready to eat. For the last five minutes or so, I sprinkled shredded parmesan cheese on top to melt it.

We had side salads and Italian bread with the pasta. I made enough so that we could have leftovers for tonight; we’ll just warm it up in the microwave and make side salads again.

I was pretty proud of how the pasta dish came out. It was simple and basically just a few things tossed into the pan, but every once in a while, I’m like, “Wow I can actually cook for myself, and now someone else.”

Some of the songs I was jamming out to:

  • “Sweet Talk” by Saint Motel
  • “Afterglow” by Taylor Swift
  • “Weatherman” by Eddie Benjamin
  • “You Make My Dreams Come True” by Hall & Oates
  • “Reelin’ in the Years” by Steely Dan
  • “Left and Right” by Charlie Puth and Jung Kook
  • “Sunshine” by OneRepublic
  • “Mr. Blue Sky” by Electric Light Orchestra
  • “Canyon Moon” by Harry Styles


  1. I recently told my husband that I refuse to learn how to properly make mashed potatoes or bacon (the perfectly cooked slightly crunchy, slightly chewy kind) so that I can force him to make some meals. We tag-team most of our meals. Usually I’ll get them started, tell him what’s left to be done to finish up, and he will serve the food; other nights we take turns. And somehow I’ve gotten in a weird routine of doing dishes when I come home from the gym around 9pm every other night. Whatever works I suppose…

    Liked by 1 person

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