I promised my husband Tom I would cook dinner tonight. Let’s face it; he cooks 99% or more of the time. He loves it, and he is a great cook. I am one of those few lucky women who have dinner waiting on the table most nights when they get home. Tom is working today, and I assure him: I got it covered.
Then, I get this call from the Dean at Ben’s school. What now? This incident turns into a two-hour parent-teacher conference about the “colorful language†Ben used at lunch. REALLY!? (One thing you should know about me: whenever I’m upset, I’ve learned to repress my “colorful language†with a “REALLY!?†I mean, I can make that word sound a hundred different ways, and friends and family know to avoid me when it starts popping into my vocabulary. Ben will get the hang of it one of these days!)
Anyway, I was having a hard time focusing on the topic at hand because all I could think about was that I PROMISED to handle dinner, and it is now 6:00 and I am still at school. Finally, the dean wraps it up, and we are out of there. In the car, I give a few motherly lectures like “Curse words? Just say no!†and then Ben and I laugh it off. I suggest cheeseburgers on the grill for dinner. Ben is all for it, and all I can think is CORONA! So a mad dash to get grill lit and burgers on before husband comes through the door and when he does, I am at least medium rare and second corona in. He knows the day has been rough if beer is happening mid week. While he finishes up at the grill, I jazz up a jarred salsa by adding fresh cilantro and jalapeno. Tex-Mex burger anyone?
