I’ve been relearning our kitchen since the last kid moved out. For about four months now I do a 1.5-mile loop before breakfast and cook two real dinners a week instead of grazing. My husband’s team came over Tuesday—eight people, lasagna, garlic bread, a lemon cake from the bakery. I’d been low-key panicking for days, imagining I’d hover by the table and feel weird. What actually happened: I had one helping, ate it slowly, laughed at a story about their office printer, and felt full before the cake. I wasn’t white-knuckling anything. The worry had been louder than the evening. I’m starting to think some of my scary scenarios are just old habits looking for a job. Anyone else find the anticipation is stranger than the actual event?
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