#to my special men

You know, I really think that when men volunteer themselves into the kitchen, us ladies, need to watch out.



Growing up, my mom did all the cooking but on a very rare Sunday morning, my dad would be in there taking over. Usually it was to make something spicy that us kids and teenagers wouldn't eat (whimps!)/(now I realize that could've been hurtful; emotional pregnant lady, sorry). When my mom wold go out of town, my dad would also end up making our meals. To this, I would always be surprised because I just didn't understand how he knew how to make something since he didn't cook otherwise. Well, that was my dad. Surprised us with a good decent meal. Thank you for doing that, I'm glad I have those memories of you.

Now, here at home, i have my amazing husband. I have shared before how my husband bakes. He takes this seriously. No ones allowed in the kitchen and don't you dare say something is going to be okay even though he might have forgotten to grease the pan, because its not okay. This is serious. Happened last weekend and I wasn't allowed to cheer him up. If he only knew how many times I tried baking (out of a box) and it came out like crap. Yeah, I'm that pathetic. See, this mans the real deal. He has all of these ingredients and wants all these supplies in order to make things better and ohmygod, he can buy them because from what I get to taste, it is gooood!

Well. When he decides to cook meals, I get intimidated and honestly, a little bit embarrassed. Since I saw my mom do all the cooking (which everyone can agree is delicious no matter what), I feel like I have to do all the cooking because I'm the mom in this house (which everyone can agree needs urgent improvement skills). Today, he made me linner (lunch/dinner, duh, get with it). It was probably the most amazing meal I've had in a looooong time. He remembered I was craving enfrijoladas. Now, I've done these and the first time, they came out good. The following times, not so good. Today, when he did it, they were amazing! I was full by the second one, but I kept going. He made them differently from what I had done and baked them in the oven at a lower level so that they weren't overcooked.

My point, he pays attention. He remembered a craving I had. He took his time to make them, with love. That was key. He even made orangeade (is that a word? Lemonade with oranges?) and this was just too sweet for me. He made me my meal. He did that for me. He must love me (or maybe fears my meals). Either way, thank you. Thank you Jesus for doing this for my pregnant body that is oh so grateful for an amazing meal. I love you.