My hubby and I each do our fair share of the work around here. He earns the paycheck, I teach the kids. I do the laundry, he does the lawn. I do the majority of the cooking, but I'm just better at it than he is. The one cooking chore that he does take charge of is grilling. Most summer weekend evenings, he'll fire it up, and I don't have to cook. Well, except for all of the side dishes, and prepping or marinating the meat. Not to mention the shopping and planning. It does him good to feel like he's in charge of the meal. I've got to encourage him.
The other night was a typical example of his attitude toward cooking. We'd both been busy with various chores during the day, but I know from my vast experience with meal prep that there comes a point where you have to stop whatever else you're doing and cook. That is if you want to eat dinner before midnight.
We had told the kids that we would be eating at 6pm sharp. Threats were even made to eat without them if they didn't get themselves home on time.
Early in the afternoon, D-boy helped me to bake shortcakes and slice strawberries for dessert. Around 4:30pm, I enlisted M-girl to help shuck the corn. When we were done, I dropped a gentle hint to BadDad.
"Honey," I asked, "What time are you going to start the chicken?"
"I've got time," he replied, "It will be ready before the corn and potatoes." I nodded doubtfully.
He went out to hack at some bushes in the front yard. I put the corn in a giant pot of water and turned on the stove. I moved on to peeling a mountain of potatoes, and getting them ready to roast. I popped them into the oven at 5:25. By this time BadDad was sitting on the couch in the family room, flipping channels on the TV every few minutes. I caught part of a horror flick, a documentary on education, and a game all in the space of 10 minutes.
I decided to try again.
"OK, I just put the potatoes and corn on!" I called down to him. No response.
"I think the chicken is bone in. Won't that take longer?"
"It's not going to take long," he assured me. I wasn't convinced.
I set the table, started some peas, and finally decided to go outside and play with D-boy and M-girl. They were hungry and needed distracting.
"The sides will all be ready by six." I told him on my way out the door.
Around quarter of, K-boy came out into the backyard.
"Dad wants to know where the chicken is." he told me.
Calmly, I informed him that it was in the downstairs fridge, where it had been marinating for hours. At least I noticed that my hubby was now stationed by the grill. I gave him time to get the chicken started and then drifted over to the patio to keep him company.
At about 6:15 he informed me that the chicken was going to take longer than he had thought. Shocker! I pacified the kids with slices of bread and butter.
When we finally sat down to dinner, I gave a sigh of satisfaction. When my hubby asked me why I was sighing, I replied, "It's just so nice when I don't have to worry about the cooking around here."
He nodded in agreement.
Linking to: Yeah Write Finding the Funny