Okay, so I’ve been doing a lot of cooking lately. But I’ve also not been doing so much.
This weekend, we went to Eugene (which will be a whole post in itself). My parents were here, and they took me out for dinner while Andrew was working.
Last night we had leftover taco soup, and this morning Andrew made breakfast.
I contributed smoothies, but that doesn’t really count.
I love that my husband is willing to cook, and he loves to help. He talks like he can’t cook, but that isn’t really true. In fact, he made me chicken parmesan a couple weeks ago, and it was good.
He’s taken to making what he calls Jackson Hash.
It’s fried bacon, followed by diced potatoes (which he painstakingly does himself so they’re all uniform, unlike my more rustic read:lazy approach). Then scrambles some eggs into the mix.
It was great, and with a blueberry/blackberry smoothie and half a kiwi, it was a perfect breakfast.
Which is not really my point.
When he was single, he had more time to be a workaholic, and he was one. He still is, but I encourage (and sometimes insist) that he take breaks and put the computer away when we’re eating, things like that.
So it was special this morning when he told me he realized how much easier it is having me around. He could fry up his concoction while I worked the blender, and together it only took a few minutes.
I know this feeling.
Before Andrew, I never took the time to make breakfast. If I was feeling particularly ambitious, I might scramble eggs and throw in some broccoli slaw. But these days, we fix a meal and sit down together to eat it.
It only takes about ten minutes, but somehow it makes the day so much better.