Seems that after blasting my darling husband - rather soundly, I might add - in the mothers of boys post, I have to tell you about the delightful meal he's making me this evening. It's Valentine's Day, don'tcha know? We aren't fans of going out and braving the crowds. Don't you just love enforced romance? Mmmmm. Me, too. In lieu of fancy trinkets (that we can't afford) and flowers (that die) and chocolates (that... hey... wait a minute), my man is making me dinner. He's not making just any dinner. He's making my favorite dinner. See? He's not quite domestically useless. One must give credit where credit is due.
What are we eating and why is it my favorite dinner? He's making Fettucine Alfredo with hot bread and a salad. Yum! It's my favorite grown-up meal simply because I don't eat it often. My conscience won't allow me to make a meal requiring copious amounts of butter and cream on a regular basis. If my mom were cooking, I'd say fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn and gravy. But, she's not cooking tonight. She doesn't live here. My husband does live here and he's cooking. So Fettucine Alfredo it is! He makes a mean Fettucine Alfredo.
You know what the best part of the meal is? I don't have to clean up. He will do it. It's part of the gift of the meal. Right now I'm sitting here on the love seat, writing to the masses, while he's in the kitchen cooking dinner and the kids are perched around me watching "Little Bear." By the time dinner is ready, the little one will be in bed. The big boys will be ensconced in a movie. I don't have to lift a finger. And I won't.
Mmmmm... the aroma of sauteed garlic has wafted under my nose. Did you hear my tummy just growl?