We knew the danger but we did it anyway. After 16 hours of flying, broken up with a stopover in LAX and questioning at U.S. Customs and Border Protection’s secondary inspection, we landed at Denver airport a few minutes early. After retrieving our bags, we hopped on the plush AB1 bus, while shushing our growling stomachs. After arriving at the Boulder bus terminal, Alex ordered a ride, so he could bring the car to take us home and avoid hauling our big-enough-to-fit-the-toddler suitcases on the local bus.
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I bundled the Little King’s arms and shoulders into his down bunting suit. My breath expelled foggy wisps into the air as my numb knuckles struggled with the zipper. My scratchy throat reminded me hours had passed since I drank due to fear of having to find a bathroom.
The plan
While waiting for Alex, I concocted our dinner plans. On a Tuesday night, around 9 p.m., most restaurants had already closed. Eyes struggling to stay open, I knew I lacked the mental energy to navigate to a restaurant pick up. Taking a chance on food delivery arriving by the time we made it home seemed risky. We took a long-haul, red-eye flight where I slept sideways on top of Alex’s bony knees while the Little King napped on my chest in our row of economy seats. Before leaving on our month-long trip, I emptied the fridge and pantry to avoid coming home to rotten cabbage, slimy lettuce, and brown-dimpled apples. Even if I had the enthusiasm to cook, I lacked the ingredients. Only one solution remained: pre-made meals from the grocery store. This guaranteed tasty food, easy preparation, and minimal clean up. Pleased with my plan, I focused on preventing hypothermia.
A tall, glass-paneled building, which I’ve passed by dozens of times but never entered, shone and beckoned me. I tip-toed around the shiny reflections on the pavement, black ice that mirrored the warm glow from the building’s windows. When the Little King and I entered, we discovered a food hall. Every surface held puffy jackets, half-eaten morsels of dinner, and jean-clad butts. The rowdy atmosphere, smiling faces, and booming emcee’s voice clued me in that it was Trivia Night. The line of food vendors and overflowing plates of thick-cut fries promised me I could enjoy a hot dinner and say bye-bye to my grumbling belly right then. I almost bought food…if I’d been able to find a seat. Seeing social people making the most of a weeknight during the biting winter reminded me how much I missed Boulder while on my travels back to my other home. Waiting around gave me free time to overthink and indulge in indecision, reconsidering my dinner plans.
What about the waste?
Before moving to Colorado, Alex and I—childfree and working full-time jobs with side gigs on nights and weekends—hit store-bought foods hard, especially as we shopped at Costco, the land of indestructible packaging.
TIP: Costco resealable plastic bags offer your frozen meals heavy-duty protection from freezer burn.
Since moving to Boulder, I became conscious of waste. Influenced by friends and neighbors who virtue signal chit-chat about their recycling, composting, and gardening habits (yep, I do it too), I often felt guilty on trash pick up day when watching my garbage can spew multi-colored sacks that previously enveloped fried mozzarella sticks, plump Thai fried rice, or frozen berries, pineapples, and mango chunks.
Sure, we survived on frozen pizzas, frozen burger patties, and nitrogen-flushed machine-made ravioli the size of my palm with jarred sauce during the newborn phase. But we’ve significantly cut down on ready-made foods and made a Herculean effort to cook from scratch in the past year. I request Alex buy fresh produce from Safeway, Hmart, and Whole Foods, instead of Trader Joe’s and Costco, because the former group of retailers don’t package every sliver of green onions in its own plastic bag.
There I stood, flip-flopping back and forth between cooking a wholesome meal, full of fresh greens, and smug self-satisfaction versus optimizing for speed and convenience so I could stuff my face quickly and go to sleep. I recalled reading the self-help book, How to Keep House While Drowning, by KC Davis, which offers compassionate and radical advice to people who struggle with the Sisyphean task of household chores. She writes about recycling: “You are not responsible for saving the world if you are struggling to save yourself. If you must use paper plates for meals or throw away recycling in order to gain better functioning you should do so.” This might not sound radical to you. But I used to bring a knife and fork to the Costco deli to cut down on disposables. (Alex has zero qualms about using disposable anything. He must feel so burdenless and light…because he’s not carrying utensils everywhere.)
When I used to work in San Francisco, pre-pandemic, a guy talked to me about his girlfriend’s discipline in separating out recycling. “She removes the plastic spout and cap from the milk carton and puts those in the recycling. Then she puts the carton in the compost because it’s made from waxed cardboard,” he told me. Recently, our composting service stopped accepting food-soiled cardboard in the compost, waxed or not. That I know this acceptance criteria tells you the compulsion runs deep.
Now that my toddler invades my brain space, I spend my remaining mental energy on remembering to restock the diaper bag, stopping the Little King from sprinting onto the street every time I open the front door, and checking I didn’t accidentally dip the tapered ends of my Linuschka owls woven wrap into the toilet bowl. Yet, I couldn’t help myself.
SIDE NOTE: I love my Patagonia backpack, a birthday gift from my mother-in-law. I use it as my diaper bag because it has so many pockets, feels super light, and doubles as my laptop bag.
Much conventional wisdom on how to make parenting and life easier—make checklists, meal plan, implement a sticker chart—sounds like more work than help. I too was guilty of dispensing this advice before I experienced early parenthood. Meal prepping overwhelms many mothers of young kids I’ve interviewed. I don’t want to dedicate every Saturday afternoon to writing a 5-day plan, grocery shopping, and chopping a mountain of vegetables. I’ll find any excuse—spritzing orchids, checking my email, looking at mid-century modern furniture on Pinterest—to avoid crafting the plan because the task drains me, mentally. It demands knowing what we want to eat, foretelling our schedules, and anticipating our energy levels. Talk about decision fatigue!
I meal plan once a quarter when I have amnesia about the last time I tried it, and because so many voices constantly tell me how great meal planning is, and how organization will supposedly make my life easier. This prevalent spirit embodying the “joys” of planning somehow embedded its voice into my head.
How to buck convention
Years ago, I told my dad someone upset me by saying something critical. I don’t remember the trivial comment, just that it bothered me. “Does this advice giver deserve your trust and respect? Do they know what they’re talking about?” he asked me. “Is this advice common sense and do you agree with it? Do you accept it?” He told me to visualize a one-way rubbish bin, a receptacle that eats garbage, makes it disappear, like a blackhole or a reverse Pandora’s box. “Throw that advice in your mental trashcan. You can throw anybody’s advice in the trash. Never think about it again. Pretend it went in one ear and out the other.” I’ve applied this advice multiple times ever since, especially—as a dutiful daughter—to his advice. But the hardest words to toss are those echoing in my head because they sound like me. Except, these words usually came from other people—parents, friends, a stranger on a random podcast I’ve forgotten—jumbled through different mouths until they merged into my voice.
By the time Alex drove to downtown Boulder, I made up my mind. Knowing that Alex planned to show up at his office in less than 10 hours, we needed sleep more than I needed perfection. We headed to Trader Joe’s on our way home and bought premade clam chowder, pre-washed bagged lettuce, frozen palak paneer, frozen garlic naan, and a dark chocolate bar. Once home, it took seven minutes to reheat the food in the microwave. Alex ate standing in front of the kitchen sink, spooning the soup into his mouth. Begging him to please sit down at the dining table to set a good example (because I gotta keep some standards), I set out knives, forks, and chopsticks with extra pats of butter. We finished dinner in about the same amount of time it took to reheat it.
Cleaning up happened even faster: we pushed the single-use bags and dirty tray into the trash (I recycled the cardboard box and put the plastic container and lid into the dishwasher for future use because habits die hard). As I fell asleep that night, I heard the voices in my head yakking about the importance of healthy cooking from scratch and the waste of packaged foods.
I tossed those Judgy McJudgepants’s words into my mental trash can.
Recipes using store-bought foods
Check out these ideas on how to make dinner quick and easy with store-bought foods to kickstart your cooking:
READ NEXT: Why you shouldn’t believe me
After 16 hours of flying, a stopover at LAX, and the AB1 ride to Boulder, ready-made food sounds less like a shortcut and more like basic survival. I fully support skipping the stove when you’re already shushing growling stomachs and wrestling toddler-sized suitcases.
After a 16-hour flight, a stopover at LAX, and the AB1 ride to Boulder, ready-made food sounds less like a guilty shortcut and more like excellent travel planning. The “big-enough-to-fit-the-toddler” suitcases detail made the whole exhausted arrival especially relatable.
The ‘we did it anyway’ framing is what makes this readable – most posts about travel exhaustion turn into advice, and this one stays a story. The point about ready-made food being cheaper than a half-used pantry is one I wish more people accepted; the guilt about not cooking from scratch often costs more than the ingredients.
Unrelated, but I keep a kaomoji collection for the notes I write in shared shopping lists; a text face like (´・ω・`) is quicker than a sentence. Fun read.
Pre-made meals after a long travel day just make sense, and I’ve done the same more times than I’d like to admit. The waste guilt is real though, and I’ve been trying to find spots that let you bring your own container. I rambled about that kind of everyday tradeoff over on firstpersonboxing.net a while back.
Cooking becomes much easier when you learn which tips work for your own kitchen and which ones are worth skipping. Practical experience, experimenting with ingredients, and adjusting recipes to your preferences can help build confidence over time. Learning through trial and error is useful in many areas of life, and Sena Sofia Plus is another resource to explore for educational information and opportunities to develop new skills.
I totally relate to that post-travel exhaustion where the thought of cooking feels impossible. Sometimes grabbing pre-made food is the only way to stay sane after a long flight, and I’ve actually discussed similar habits over at Crazy Cattle 3D when talking about simplifying daily routines. It’s definitely okay to give yourself a break once in a while.
After 16 hours of flying, a stopover at LAX, and the AB1 ride from Denver to Boulder, choosing ready-made food sounds less like laziness and more like sensible trip recovery. The image of shushing growling stomachs while wrestling toddler-sized suitcases really says it all.
I totally relate to that post-travel exhaustion where even boiling water feels like a marathon. Sometimes you just have to give yourself permission to skip the kitchen entirely. It reminds me of how I use Remove Music From Video to save time on editing when I’m just too drained to be a perfectionist. Great reminder that convenience is sometimes a necessity, not a failure.
After a 16-hour flight with an LAX stopover, waiting until Boulder to cook would be heroic rather than practical. The AB1 ride and toddler-sized luggage make a strong case for treating ready-made food as smart travel logistics, not a failure of culinary virtue.
Totally get this! After a long travel day, the last thing I want is to think about cooking. I ended up grabbing some ready-made stuff myself last week after a crazy flight, and it was a lifesaver. It reminds me of when I was looking into quick meal solutions on Flying Car AI, though that was more about tech than actual food.
Informative post. Follow it. slope
After 16 hours of flying, a stopover at LAX, and toddler-sized suitcases, resisting the urge to cook sounds less like bad advice and more like excellent survival strategy. The AB1-to-Boulder-home stretch alone earned you a ready-made meal.
After 16 hours of flying, a stopover at LAX, and the AB1 ride to Boulder, ready-made food sounds less like culinary rebellion and more like basic survival. I appreciated the honesty about choosing convenience over cooking when the suitcases—and the toddler—were already enough to manage.
After 16 hours of flying and the LAX stopover, ready-made food sounds like the only sensible choice—not a culinary failure. The oversized suitcases and Boulder bus-terminal logistics would have finished off any remaining motivation to cook.
After 16 hours of flying, a stopover at LAX, and the AB1 ride from Denver to Boulder, opting for ready-made food sounds less like laziness and more like basic survival. The image of shushing growling stomachs while wrestling toddler-sized suitcases really says it all.
After a 16-hour flight, a stopover at LAX, and luggage large enough to fit a toddler, ready-made food sounds less like a culinary failure and more like excellent survival strategy. The plush AB1 bus and growling stomachs made this travel-day decision especially relatable.
After a 16-hour journey, a stopover at LAX, and oversized suitcases, choosing ready-made food sounds less like a culinary shortcut and more like essential survival. The plush AB1 bus and toddler-sized luggage detail made the travel exhaustion especially relatable.
The “mental trash can” idea really lands. After a long travel day, spending energy on a from-scratch dinner is exactly the kind of advice that sounds sensible but drains you, and I appreciate how you separate convenience from guilt. When I do have a little creative energy left, I like to spend it on visual side projects instead of chopping vegetables. Lately that has been FreeCreate AI Image and Video Studio (https://freecreate.app/), a free AI studio that turns a prompt or a reference photo into an image or short video without needing an account. Same principle as your piece: pick the option that fits the energy you actually have.
Cooking advice can be helpful, but experimenting in the kitchen is also a great way to discover what works best for you. The tips here offer an interesting reminder that recipes can be adapted to suit different tastes and cooking styles. I also came across Attestation d’hébergement while exploring other useful websites.
After a 16-hour flight, a stopover at LAX, and luggage large enough to fit a toddler, ready-made food sounds less like a culinary shortcut and more like basic survival. The plush AB1 bus and Boulder ride detail made the exhaustion—and the decision—especially relatable.
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After a 16-hour flight, a stopover at LAX, and those toddler-sized suitcases, choosing ready-made food sounds less like breaking the rules and more like sensible survival. The plush AB1 ride may have been comfortable, but I’m glad the growling stomachs didn’t have to wait for a homemade meal.
Skipping traditional cooking rules when you are exhausted is a smart way to decompress. Pairing a quick meal with a lighthearted match of Basket Random gives you easy and chilling way to relax.
After 16 hours of flying, a stopover at LAX, and the AB1 ride to Boulder, ready-made food sounds less like “ignoring cooking advice” and more like basic survival. The image of shushing growling stomachs while hauling toddler-sized suitcases was especially relatable.
After 16 hours of flying, a stopover at LAX, and hauling toddler-sized suitcases from the AB1 to Boulder, ready-made food sounds less like cheating and more like basic survival. The growling stomachs definitely made the case better than any conventional cooking advice could.
After 16 hours of flying, a stopover at LAX, and a bus ride to Boulder, ready-made food sounds less like a shortcut and more like basic survival. The “big-enough-to-fit-the-toddler” suitcases detail made the whole arrival especially relatable.
After 16 hours of flying, a stopover at LAX, and hauling toddler-sized suitcases from Denver to Boulder, ready-made food sounds less like cheating and more like essential travel recovery. The growling stomachs clearly had the right idea.
After 16 hours of flying, a stopover at LAX, and hauling oversized suitcases, choosing ready-made food sounds less like laziness and more like smart travel recovery. The “big-enough-to-fit-the-toddler” description made the arrival scene especially relatable.
The point about meal planning becoming another demanding task really stood out. Advice can sound sensible and still be exhausting to put into practice. I’d apply the same test to work tools like Comms Hub: does this actually reduce the number of things I have to manage? Whether it’s organizing business messaging or getting dinner on the table, convenience has real value. After that journey, frozen palak paneer and warm naan sound like an excellent dinner. I appreciate the reminder that we’re allowed to choose something manageable for the energy we have that day.
After a 16-hour flight with an LAX stopover, choosing ready-made food sounds less like ignoring cooking advice and more like sensible survival. The image of shushing growling stomachs on the AB1 bus—and hauling toddler-sized suitcases afterward—really captures the exhaustion.
After 16 hours of flying, a stopover at LAX, and the AB1 ride to Boulder, ready-made food sounds less like a shortcut and more like basic survival. The “big-enough-to-fit-the-toddler” suitcases detail made the whole travel ordeal especially relatable.
After 16 hours of flying, a stopover at LAX, and the AB1 ride to Boulder, ready-made food sounds less like cheating and more like sensible travel logistics. I especially appreciated the detail about shushing growling stomachs while dealing with those toddler-sized suitcases.
This really resonated with me, especially the mental trash can idea for letting go of judgy cooking advice. After an exhausting day of parenting and work, saving that energy for unwinding with family and music via sendthesong feels far more valuable than stressing over cooking everything from scratch.
This is such a relatable and honest perspective. Letting go of the guilt around convenience foods and ready-made meals after exhausting days really frees up mental energy for creative projects and unwinding.
This is such a refreshing and honest perspective. After a long, exhausting day, letting go of the guilt around convenience food and ready-made meals really frees up mental space. Sometimes saving that energy for unwinding with family or creative hobbies is far more valuable than trying to cook everything from scratch.
This really resonated with me, especially the mental trash can idea for judgy cooking advice. After long travel days I’ve also leaned on ready-made meals to save mental energy. Lately I’ve been exploring AI tools to reduce decision fatigue around planning, and HuntAI helped me compare options by real traffic and growth signals. Thanks for the honest take on ditching perfection for sleep!
I totally get this! Sometimes cooking from scratch is just too much after a long day. Buying ready-made food saves time and energy. Thanks for being real about it, not everything has to be homemade.
This really resonated with me! After a long trip, the last thing I want to do is cook. I’ve found that relying on good pre-made options can save so much hassle. I actually talked about something similar recently on Choicer Voicer, it’s amazing how much time and stress it can free up.
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I’ve had those exhausted travel nights where even choosing dinner feels like a huge decision, and finding a simple solution is such a relief. Sometimes I unwind with a quick PolyTrack game after a long day because a little distraction helps me reset before making the next choice.
Thanks for sharing your insights! I really enjoyed reading your perspective, and it offered a refreshing way to think about cooking with more confidence and flexibility. I appreciate the helpful tips, thanks for the great post! http://www.drywallcontractorrichmondbc.com
The feeling of bypassing all the cumbersome rules and “running” straight to convenience immediately reminds me of the game run 3. In the game, you just need to rush straight ahead, nimbly switching between spaces and skipping complicated detours to reach your destination as quickly as possible. Life is busy, and sometimes “skipping the beaten path” of traditional cooking is the way to get through a long day smoothly and full of energy!
Choosing ready-made food can definitely save time for people with busy schedules, especially when convenience is the priority over traditional cooking. The key is finding options that still offer good quality and nutrition rather than relying on processed meals all the time. It kind of reminds me of Plants vs. Zombies Fusion v3.5, where picking the right strategy for the situation often works better than following the usual approach every time.
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