Tuesday, March 2, 2010

This time I get to kiss the cook!

It started out like every other Sunday night - kids in bed, school clothes out, lunchboxes packed. This time though, a child got sick. Not just a little sick, but the head spinning around, projectile vomiting, "they're here..." kind of sick. It all happened at the most convenient time of 2:00 am; naturally of course, because it would be too easy if it happened during the day when everyone was rested. Obviously she didn't go to school and today didn't feel much like doing her piles of homework. So it was pretty much a Scooby Doo kind of couple of days.

As many parents know, when a child is sick, the whole world just kind of grinds to a stop. Groceries don't get bought, the house doesn't get cleaned, about the only thing that does get done is the laundry - for obvious reasons. Yeah, I know - kind of gross. Anyway, as luck would have it, I had to take my boy to his evening baseball practice, so I wouldn't be responsible for making dinner. My wife, being the pro she is, stepped right in and told me not to worry about it, she'd cook dinner. Now, this is probably the first dinner she's cooked in maybe a couple of weeks.

We got back from little league practice and dinner was ready to go. I sat down and ate. Then I got seconds and ate some more. I couldn't believe how great her spaghetti and meat sauce tasted. I even ate the raw veggies on the side. I was amazed at how wonderful this dining experience was. I turned to her and expressed my appreciation for this most glorious bounty. I asked her what she had done to magically transform this meat sauce into the likes never before seen on this planet. She turned back to me and stated these very wise words, "The dinner is pretty good...huh? It always tastes better when someone else makes it!"

I was astonished. It was as if someone had calmly and expertly explained the Book of Revelation or revealed to me my purpose for being on earth. I fell back in my dining chair, speechless. It suddenly made sense. She was right, because when I cook dinner, rarely do I chow down like one of Pavlov's dogs who just heard the dinner bell. I'm usually pushing the food around on my plate, making sure the kids keep their food either on their plates or in their mouths, or the thought of cleaning the dishes up afterwards has me so beatin' down, I lose my appetite.

This is yet another example of what parents rarely get to understand about each other. The switch we chose to make those several months ago just continue to provide eye-popping experiences - for both of us. I wish more people could do this experiment. Paul tells us to walk in another person's shoes and we'll gain a better appreciation for them. Those are some kind of true words, I'm here to tell you.

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