About a year ago, the King and I reached an important impasse in our relationship. You see, he firmly believes that a big, elaborate dinner in essential to our Sunday ritual. I, on the other hand, think that Sundays are painful and stressful enough after fighting kids through getting ready for then being reverent through 3 hours of church. When I get home, all I want is a nap. Cooking schmooking.
The easy resolution to our problem would be to just go to my parents' house every Sunday for dinner. My mom always puts on a huge spread and we are always welcome- no invitation necessary (have I mentioned before that my parents are the best!). The two hour round trip to their house is just not fun when you have cranky, hungry kids and evening meetings to get back to.
So the King gave up trying to persuade me to make dinner and took matters in his own hands. Yes, he started to cook.
At first the meals were very simple and mostly barbecued or broiled (still delish though-thank you Maddox and your freezer turkey steaks). As the months progressed, he tried out new dishes and now has an impressive menu from which he lets me select the main dish each week. He even cooks once or twice during the week.
Yesterday we had grilled chicken caesar salads. They were amazing.
Next week will be our 13th wedding anniversary. I am one of the fortunate ladies that can say my hubby just gets better and better all the time. Thank you for 13 years of school, kids, work, dogs, house and yard projects, road trips, Diet Coke dates, walks through Lowes and Home Depot, outlet malls, bad Adam Sandler movies, WWE pay-per-views, University of Utah football games, Coldplay concerts, Jane Austen movie adaptations, my rap music period, giving up red meat and pork, arguing over how to pronounce "warm", not saying the words I hate like "french fry" or "Coca Cola", and thinking I'm a domestic goddess even though I despise cooking.
Heart You Forever.