When I got married I didn't know how to cook. My mother is an amazing cook so I never felt the need to actually make anything. I could make a box of Pasta Roni, I could order in, I could whip up a mean batch of cereal...and Pop Tarts. That's it.
J does not eat cereal, or Pop Tarts. He was made fully aware of my inability to cook prior to offering me his hand in marriage. But, alas, love is blind. I think he thought that my genetics would kick in. However, there comes a time when Pasta Roni does not cut it anymore and I had to make real food.
I got back from our honeymoon, in love, and ready for a challenge. After a long day at the office, J was not home yet, I decided to make chicken. I went into the freezer. Called my mother crying because I did not know how to defrost it. She talked me through it and I panicked when it partially cooked in the microwave. Then, I tried to cook it. I honestly don't remember the details but when J got home that night, the entire kitchen was covered in salmonella, paper towels, and my tears. It was a really special scene.
I literally burst into tears when he got home. I then went to my car and cried while he finished making dinner. It was pretty sad. J could totally cook. He "fixed" dinner, no one acquired dysentery, we are still married, and now I can make chicken.
The only reason I am thinking of that debacle is because tonight I wanted to surprise J with some wontons. He loves them, his Mom rocks at making them, I had all the stuff. He has been working harder than he usually works lately...which means 20 hours a day, 7 days a week, at least. I had all the stuff. Well, right now as I write, I just finished cleaning my kitchen that was covered in oil. I have little third degree burns due to splattering oil all over my hands. It took me like 30 minutes to clean the oil from ALL OVER my stove, and tea kettle, and cookbook stand, and floor. I think the floor is still a bit slick. I will have to clean it again before one of the children fall.
Julio ate it though. And he was really happy. His Mom's is WAAAY better. Sigh. I try, I fail. I hope it is the thought that really counts because I did not think they were very good. I didn't cry though, that's good, right? I've come a short way, baby.