Take My Husband, PLEASE!

[Please note: this post was written with both the approval and encouragement of my husband.]

Westbankpapa has unfortunately been laid off from his hi-tech job, and although he has had a good interview or two he is still signing up at the unemployment office, and spending a lot of time at home. (Readers who want details and have possible leads can email me). Since I work part-time from home our togetherness quotient has risen dramatically.

This state of affairs has its advantages - he has a lot of quality time with the kids, for example. But it also has its inevitable disadvantages. In our case it causes quite a lot of stress in one particular room of the house.

I am talking of course, about the kitchen.

You see, if men are from Mars and women are from Venus when it comes to communication, then there must be two different planets for those of us in the human race who are "foodies" and those who are not.

I'm not.

Don't get me wrong, I like eating (especially chocolate). But I am rather simple in my tastes and in my cooking skills (see previous post). Just to give you an example, my idea of a hi-tech kitchen gadget is a wooden spoon.

When I read a cookbook and find a recipe where it takes eight different steps just to preheat the oven, I turn the page. Westbankpapa views this kind of recipe as a personal challenge made by the author and he responds by picking up the gauntlet (or oven mitt, in this case).

What this means is that for a good portion of my day, every flat surface in my kitchen is completely covered with...stuff. I never knew there were so many different ways to cut up food or measure it. I never knew that the precise temperature could be measured with so many different gadgets. I never knew what an imposition it is just to make a cup of coffee (no, don't touch that....)

The resulting food is usually delicious, of course, although a bit on the gourmet side. The kids sometimes look at me with longing and ask, politely mind you, "Ima, you're going to make the spaghetti sauce next time, right?" when they find something in it that defies their imagination.

But this is just the beginning. The resulting questions that emerge after each cooking session ("honey, don't you think that the plates could be stored here in this cupboard", or "darling, I've thought of a better way to arrange the spices") have gotten on my nerves to the point where I have to clench my teeth just to respond civilly.

The scary part comes when I start imagining what will happen when he retires....

My prayers for parnassa have taken on a keener edge lately, and I sincerely wish him a hearty "b'hatzlacha" ("good luck") when he goes out the door to another interview!

But I'm hanging on the edge here folks... judging from the sounds he's now rearranging the medicine cabinet....