It was a typical Monday in our little abode. We struggled to get up after nice weekend of nothing in particular; breakfast needed eaten, clothes changed, school lunch made. I walked with my son to first grade, and then shuttled my youngest off base to his preschool.
The day progressed fairly normally and without incident. Throughout the day I was plagued with the proverbial question on most mother’s minds- what am I going to make for dinner. I stared into the refrigerator and freezer searching for the answer. I walked into our pantry-laundry-room-entry-hall and stared at the non-perishables, but still no ideas.
After a while, as if pregnant with a hankering for something, I decided upon cornbread. Mmmm, warm cornbread with butter and honey. Chili worn normally accompany this, however I was unprepared, naturally, to make it (that and it wasn’t cold enough to enjoy the benefits of chili, according to my husband’s sense of right and wrong). So what to accompany it? I once again consult my refrigerator and freezer, hoping my firm desire of cornbread inspires my appliance to give me an answer. Green beans; green beans can go with cornbread right? Good; now for one last thing to round the plate out. I walk back to my multipurpose room and Bisquick jumps out at me with its recipe for chicken tenders. That’s it! I’ve got my balanced dinner.
When school was over the kids and I made the cornbread to have that out of the way before gymnastics. Once home, I could get the chicken done in about 20 minutes. The cornbread was sounding better every time I thought about it. I could not wait!
Off we went to gymnastics, a short bike ride away. Once class was over we, naturally, came home. As I opened the door to our house my ears and nose detected activity in the kitchen. I walked in to find my husband at the stove cooking polish sausage and spaghetti noodles, and warming up sauce. My first thought was not how nice it was to have him making a meal unasked, but how I was not going to have cornbread for dinner! My warm, yummy blue corn cornbread with butter and honey.
I mentally stormed down the hall to put something away, annoyed my dinner plans had been changed without consult. How could he think I could forget? Providing meals is part of the job description. As I walked back down the hall, ready to face a meal I am not overly fond of (otherwise known as a fall-back meal in my house), I realized how childish I was being. How many wives would do anything for their husbands to open a can of soup! Here was mine, cooking a me! Akin to our disagreement on how apples should be cut for a pie (he says cubed, I say sliced), I was quibbling. I should be so lucky!
And you know what? I am.
I walked in to the kitchen, gave him a big hug, sat down with him at the table, at ate that entire bowl of spaghetti and sausage.
Be grateful when your husband makes spaghetti for you!
Guest Blogger: Rebecca Pepper