I’m not a good cook.
No, seriously. There are things in life I can face with no fear: volunteering to go first at karaoke, taking the last remaining spot in Zumba class (which happens to be right at the front), joining my kids in goofy running on a playground, and so on. Once I was on the way in to work and an entire tree of snow dumped on my head – goodbye, hairstyle. I laughed in the bathroom mirror and went to my desk ready to explain my hair throughout the day.
So I don’t balk at many things. I balk at cooking. Why? Because in the kitchen I’m a lot like this:
I wish I was exaggerating, but it’s a sore spot. I was lucky enough to marry a guy who is great in the kitchen, but the reality is that he can’t cook every meal – nor should he – and teetering between cheese quesadillas and Annie’s mac-n-cheese each night might be what the kids love, but it’s not what we need.
Facing a cooking task is tough for me because, while I feel fairly confident in many other things, I go into each trial expecting things to go badly. And they have; I have good friends and immediate family members who have choked down something I’ve made.
But dammit, I’m going to get this done. Would I rather not? You bet. Will I fail again? Duh. Am I going to keep at it? (sigh) Yes.
Which is why this morning I prepped up the slow cooker with all the fixings for chicken noodle soup. My outlook was bleak and I fully expected to come home to something either very burned or very awful. Instead, I just had to add a touch more salt and we were all able to dine on a tolerable-bordering-on-tasty helping of soup.
So now I feel a bit more like this.
For now. :)