I was seven years old when my life was turned completely upside down. My parents broke the news to my siblings and me that they were getting a divorce — something my little mind could barely process at the time.
My mom moved in with my grandparents about two minutes down the road from where we previously lived. It was a three-bedroom home that temporarily housed the six of us. I never saw my mom cry, show emotion or break down in front of her children despite going through what can only be considered the worst of times.
Instead, she kept pushing.
One of the most memorable parts of an otherwise brutal time for my family was the opportunity to live with my grandmother. She had my mom when she was young and my mom had me around the same age, so my grandmother was always considered the “cool and young” grandparent.
I remember watching the 2008 presidential election with her. She even participated in it herself by running for a seat in the Delaware House of Representatives as a Democrat in our deep red district.
I still think back on how dire those times really were and how much has changed. I remember sharing a room with my siblings and the creative ways we would keep ourselves entertained — usually the Wii Fit balance board.
My favorite part about living with my grandparents was how it allowed us to eat dinner with them every night. In my family, everyone was expected to eat at the dinner table, talk about their day and remain seated until they were excused.
My mom was a seventh-grade English teacher, so my grandmother cooked dinner most nights. Other than going through an emotionally draining divorce that required her to serve as a single parent, my mom was often spending the evening hours grading papers or unwinding from the chaos of teaching pre-teens.
When my mom was able to cook, she made dishes that didn’t take much preparation. One meal always stood out — a simple one that I can only remember as macaroni beef. It included thin macaroni noodles with white cheese sauce and little bits of beef, served in a white ceramic bowl with a blue trim around the outside.
For whatever reason, I remember asking my mom to make macaroni beef multiple times a week, whether it was 6 p.m. after school on a weekday or for lunch during the weekend. I probably ate that silly, simple meal close to 100 times in the two years we lived with my grandparents. It gave me something to look forward to while my world, as I knew it, was crumbling.
Macaroni and cheese has been my favorite food my entire life, but something about my mom’s macaroni beef is more memorable than usual. It could simply be because it was made by my mom, or that it was the only consistency during a time when my world was full of inconsistencies.
After about two years of living with my grandparents, my mom, my siblings and I moved into a newly built house not even a 90 second drive away. I never remember having macaroni beef after moving out. Probably because my mom had more time on her hands to cook my siblings and me more planned-out dinners after her life calmed down.
A few years ago, I asked my mom if she remembered making that meal for me and what exactly it was, but she couldn’t fully recall. It was such a mundane and unmemorable dish that she made during one of the worst periods of her life, but to me, it was something to look forward to.
Macaroni beef excited me and always brought a smile to my face during arguably the most confusing thing a clueless seven-year-old can go through. Out of all the things that come to mind during those whirlwind two years, that bowl of macaroni beef tops the list every single time.
It’s often the little things that get family through tragedy or hard times. For me, it was white cheese noodles and clumps of beef in a white ceramic bowl with a blue trim around the outside.
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