I don't like to cook. It's kinda nuts, considering I love to watch cooking shows and I am the owner of 1,016 cookbooks. If I didn't have Landon, I would be quite content to have frozen cheese pizza for supper every night of the week. Tim would not. Nor would Landon. So, I cook. Since I started my diet, my new goal is to have supper together at the table at least three nights (as opposed to five) a week. On those nights, I try to prepare meals that I can also eat along with Tim and Landon. The other nights, I let Tim and Landon eat the meal I've prepared for them, in the T.V. room, on the couch, in front of the T.V. I sometimes join them with my own supper, but for the most part, I like to be by myself at the table or in the living room. I know it isn't how we're "suppose" to do things and it's probably not a "healthy" way to raise Landon, but it works for us. (I apologize to Landon's future wife and children for any damage this may someday cause.) So, that's the way we do it. On their T.V. nights, I probably make four or five trips from the kitchen to the T.V. room while "serving" them their supper. Salt, pepper, ketchup, napkins, milk, blah, blah, blah... I don't like this either, but for the most part I suck it up and just do it. Oh, I admit I throw out a few sarcastic "Oh Thank you Mom/Honey! Your the best Mom/Honey in the whole world!" to let them know how I really feel about the whole situation. They get the point and respond like good little robots, while their eyes never leave the T.V. screen. But, every now and then I get really fed up. On those nights, when Tim comes home and asks "What's for supper?" I look him in the eye and say slowly and quietly, "Whatever you're making us." Tonight was one of those nights. Usually, when Tim cooks we eat at the table and I help put it all on the table. Not tonight. Tonight I decided Landon and I were going to eat in the T.V. room. Tim made eggs, little smokies and toast. He knows how I eat my eggs and prepared them scrambled with cheese for me. But, whatever possessed him to give Landon a soft fried egg, I'll never know. I have never, ever given Landon an egg prepared that way. I know him. He would hate it. Tim came into the room with the plate, set it down on the T.V. tray and told Landon to break open the egg so the yolk would run out and dip his toast in it. I held my breath. Landon stuck his finger in the middle of the egg, the yolk ran out and went under his toast and smokies. Landon said,
"That's just sick." Oh man, that hit my funny bone so hard, I almost choked on my eggs! Tim got all huffy and took the plate and went back into the kitchen to make up another plate for Landon. While he was cooking and I was trying really hard to stop laughing, Landon called out to Tim, "Dad! Bring me a glass of milk!" He did. Then Landon called out, "Dad! Bring me a napkin! I spilled my milk!" He did. But, he wasn't so pleasant about it. He was fuming and annoyed. Guess he didn't like making all those trips. Watching him huff and puff and stomp off all frazzled, only made me laugh all the harder. I really tried hard to stop laughing and was good until he would yell out, "Knock it off! It's not funny!" (Why does he do that? He knows it only makes it worse!) Now, when I make eggs, I take out the blender and whip them with a little milk and garlic salt. Then I add shredded cheddar cheese at the last minute to melt all gooey and warm on top. They are the lightest, fluffiest, yummiest eggs ever. But, that takes a little effort. Tim didn't make that effort, and as a result, his eggs were flat, hard, bland and glued together with cheese. Neither Landon or I finished them. So, when Tim said to me "Is there a reason, you couldn't eat all your eggs?" I gave him no words of reassurance.
Instead I said, "Oh dear, are you feeling a little under appreciated?"
He's still mad at me. But, don't worry. He'll get over it.
When he gets his nice, hot plate of supper, served by his nice, hot wife... tomorrow! ;)
