When I first met Greg he told me he was a good cook. He later told me he just assumed this because his Dad could cook. Through the years we've learned that Greg is an absolute hazard in the kitchen. If I had a stressful day he would kindly offer to make dinner (good hubby). He would always pick the easiest meal on our list and I would sit back and relax as he went to it. This generous offer would usually end up stressing me out even more and leaving Greg running around like a chicken with its head cut off. For example, once he made rice three times because he measured it wrong every time, and after an hour or so had to drive to Panda Express and order a side of rice for the rest of the now cold meal. And amazingly enough, he once set the stove on fire boiling water which resulted in having to buy a new stove. His cooking skills are a running joke in our family, and now when I have a stressful day he just offers to take me out to eat or order a pizza.
I consider myself to be a pretty good cook. I had no idea what I was doing before I got married, but now I really enjoy cooking/baking and am quite successful at it. That is until Palmer came along. Since having him I have had to cut down on my fancy home cooked meals and adapted to more packaged dinners. I just don't have the time and energy to commit to cooking as I did before. The other night I was making rice; should be pretty easy, right? Well, with a two month old the answer to that is a resounding no. Palmer woke up from his nap and started screaming just as I was putting it on the stove. I tried to stay and watch it as long as I could, but the baby was pretty mad, so when the rice was almost boiling I decided it was good enough and turned it down. I then fed Palmer. Then I checked the rice; it looked fine, so I dished my meal up. When I took the first bit my teeth felt like they were chewing little rocks. Only the very outside of the rice grains had softened. Greg and I just ate the chicken and veggies for dinner. I decided to make a quick batch of rice for us to eat with the leftovers for lunch the next day. I set the burner on high, determined not to turn it down too early. This time I totally forgot about it because I was taking care of Palmer and about an hour later I walked upstairs to find our kitchen filled with smoke and a very, very burnt pan of rice. So I guess I can no longer tease Greg about his three time ruined rice, because I'm already 2/3 of the way there myself! Hopefully when my kids get a little older I will be able to cook well once again.
For the record, I must admit Greg can cook some mean pancakes and scrumptious mashed potatoes.