I just spent most of my sacred work-free time shopping for dinner, prepping for dinner, and making dinner. I made pea curry from scratch. This required me to violently whack open a coconut with a hammer and peel off the fresh meat- much easier said that done. I paired the pea curry with tandoori chicken which I had prepped early in the morning (skipping my morning trip to the gym) and let marinate all day. I served the curry and chicken with rice, raita, and naan (which I usually make from scratch but ran out of time today).
After all the effort, I was pleased with the results but exhausted. I had managed to cook the meal while my husband was at the gym and with both kids getting into messes, making repeated requests from me, and being cranky and clingy. I had to toss frozen peas on the floor for Ryan as a distraction once or twice and then bribe him with a dum dum sucker.
When my husband walked through the door at 8:00 p.m. and approached a meticulously set dining table full of hot food, I was just a little burnt out. A couple bites into the meal I asked my husband what he thought of my dinner, expecting at least a "thank you." Right?
He just shrugged his shoulders and make a glutteral sound in the back of his throught that seemed to say, "I don't know."
Seriously?! Can you at least FAKE IT? PLEASE?!
I was tempted to threaten him by saying, "Fine. Tomorrow you can just eat htodogs." But I knew he would secretly love that.