New Found Respect

For the past few weeks I have been cooking dinner.  Shut up!  I really have been!

My MIL has been sick and {should probably go to the hospital} has not felt like doing anything but sleeping.

Tuesday night we decided on soup and sandwiches for dinner.  Something quick and easy, right?

Not around here.

Of course we can't all agree on one soup.  That would make things way too easy for me.

Kaylee decides to have chicken noodle.  She always has chicken noodle.  Always.

Randall and I decide on the Campbell's Chunky Potato Bacon Cheddar soup.  Yummy! 

And the in-laws decide on Split Pea with Ham.

I am not a fan of peas.  I hate the little suckers.  And I have never cooked pea soup, ever.

So you can imagine my surprise when I opened the can to find smashed peas and slices of what I assume were carrots, all stuffed inside.  I had to use a spoon to pry it out. It was vacuum packed and made a small pop when I started removing it from the can.

People?  My conclusion about condensed pea soup?  It looks like vomit in a can.

And as it is warming in a pot on the stove?  It looks like warmed up vomit in a pot.  

I am also pretty sure that it looks like vomit in a bowl after it is dished up.

I know, I am gross and disgusting.  

Can't help it.  

I really don't like peas.

Pretty sure they picked pea soup to torture me.

Anyway...

I am cooking dinner.  Three different pots on the stove with three different soups.  Trying to make sure that the potato soup and the vomit pea soup doesn't scorch.

Randall walks into the kitchen.  Apparently I must have had a crazed look on my face.  Trying to get sandwich fixings together mixed with trying to make sure the soups didn't burn was more than I could handle. {Not really.  But I was slightly aggravated.}

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You overwhelmed??"

"Maybe a little."

"I'll pour Kaylee's drink.  Will that help?"

I nod my head.

All the while my FIL is in the kitchen, in the way, trying to open a can of dog food so he can feed the dogs.

ARGH!  Do that shit before dinner is done.  Seriously.

Dinner gets eaten and I find myself in the kitchen doing dishes.  No one offers to help.  No one.

No.  I take that back.  Randall offered to help.  He always offers to help in some way.  He is a sweetie like that and I love him for it.

So now I understand why my MIL gets pissed off about having to cook dinner and do the dishes.  All the time.

A new found respect.

I get it now.

So whenever she gets better and starts cooking again?  I will offer help with cooking and offer to do the dishes.  

She may not take the offers but at least they will be put out there for her to take or leave.

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