It was a bit crowded in our little hall of a kitchen, and my husband was feeling a bit stressed. He wanted all of our children (well, the older ones) to help make dinner for me. He started on Saturday because he wanted to avoid doing a lot of work on Sunday. Since he had potato salad on the menu, that meant doing most of the prep on Saturday – although we ended up with stuff cooked and the rest of it thrown together Sunday after church.
While my oldest daughter was washing the potatoes for salad and I was getting the eggs put in a pan to boil, he was trying to make strawberry pies. At one point, I had gone down stairs because they had informed me that I wasn’t setting foot in the kitchen. About half way through the cooking ordeal, he called me on the intercom and asked for my help. PLEASE! Grin. How could I resist?
When I say our kitchen is a hallway, I’m not exaggerating. It is about 12 feet long, and 4 feet wide. Which, if you are walking down a hallway is nice and roomy, but if working in a kitchen with three other people and two younger ones who are curious and just want to walk through – there isn’t any room.
About a half hour later, he was tossing the youngest ones out, and threatening anyone who didn’t have an assignment and came within two feet of the kitchen. He was feeling very stressed, and I felt bad. I was also worried he would end up strangling one of the children if they walked behind him one more time.
I guess I should have thrown that old cake pan with the small holes in it away, but it works for most things, and I’m short on cake pans. It didn’t help that he used it to marinate the chicken and it leaked all over the tablecloth and counter before he discovered the leak and put it on a cookie sheet. He was really ready to go to bed by the time we were finished.
Sunday’s dinner turned out wonderfully. I carefully avoided mentioning the rather brown pie crusts on the strawberry pies, but he pointed them out anyway, telling everyone that he usually manages to ruin one or two items each year. I think he does a great job.
He also mentioned, in the midst of the chaos, that this would be great information for a parenting book – one on how to see the humor in every day things. I thought it would be great blog material, and saved it for you folks.
Whoever said the road to hell is paved with good intentions, wasn’t married. It was my hubby's intention to serve me a wonderful dinner that I didn’t have to cook and could enjoy at the same time. While it was yummy and I enjoyed it (especially the marinated chicken!), he focused on the negative parts, and agonized over the fact it wasn’t perfect. I, on the other hand, appreciated his intentions and loved him more for it – along with my children who made breakfast and helped with all the cooking and setting up at grandma’s house.
Sometimes it is the thought that counts.
While he probably felt like the day was a failure, I enjoyed every minute of it. It made me aware of my many blessings, namely seven of them; and the amazing gift of being a mother.
I can hardly wait till Father’s Day.