Hot Mess

I vowed with perfect absolution that I would never do it again. And then I did it again. All week. I made a messipe of a recipe, and then I took that proverbial rolling pin and slugged myself with it, and tore off my apron in indignation, and cried because I'm not Giada DeLaurentiis. Neither my cleavage nor my cooking skills can compete. I always thought I was a competent cook, but then I got married and the question of What am I having for dinner became What are we having (funny how that happens...) and it turns out that fiesta bowl after fiesta bowl (a savory medley of frijoles negros, cheese, and salsa) is not acceptable. The?

So for awhile I begged out of cooking dinner for fear that my husband would scoff at the offerings. So I played the damsel in distress card, then the long commute home card, then the I'm in school card, followed by the I'm a damsel in distress with a long commute home from grad school AND I'M PREGNANT FEED ME NOW card, and after I showed all those cards, I became a desperate housewife mother of one who actually likes to meal plan. So here I am, planning meals and cutting coupons, and just forming a regular conga line up and around the islands of produce and enjoying my time at the groceria.

But after I come home from market, I oftentimes do what I did yesterday, and that is to reenact Pearl Harbor Day in my kitchen. I made some kind of waffle for Baby Girl and it tasted much like the chalky pasty goop into which you sink your teeth for the dental mold. Lovey Loverpants swooped in to try a bite (against the voodoo powers of my fingers trying to keep him at bay) and he laughed, "Uh, Kenny, did you use a little too much baking powder?") Hmm, could be.

So I'm trying mightily to close out the 3948038490 Mozila Firefox tabs I have up in my brain, trying not to attempt to read the news, do downfacing dog, and caramelize onions all at once. I want to enjoy the blessing of my family, and to enjoy the ritual of cooking, and to not be so hasty and wasteful, seeing as haste makes waste, and causes your family to waste away when all there is to eat is chalky waffle bites for dinner.


And if I still can't master the art of cooking, I'm going to go hang out at PBK and at least look good in the kitchen.