Cooking

Listening to my husband and grandmother talk about me in another room is most amusing. It is so strange to hear peoples perception. How bizarre and from my angle how just a bit off they are.

While I was rushing about squeezing in chores during a visit that was some what spontaneous and not actually wanted I listened to them go on. Packing days are busy and once the afternoon hits I prefer for the four of us to be alone and try to get in some family time. My grandmother and others seem to absolutely not understand this- it is to the point that I'm just about ready to turn the phone off and not answer the door after 3 on Sundays. All week long I get questioned about how I handle my husband being gone all week, and how he should get a closer job so he's home every night but come the weekends everybody wants some of his time.

My grandmother had said something about how many recipes/cookbooks she had when the Ape had said "Like Liz." With that she went on to say that I didn't like to cook and he said that I did but he liked to cook more. They never asked me. He failed to mention that I have cooked through out our 10 year relationship-including just about every lunch and dinner for the first year we were married. And now do so everyday for 3 meals.

I love to cook and bake and have since I was young. But, give me a break. I fucking hate our kitchen. It's about the size of a bathroom but with less counter space. Our food is stored in one cabinet and a metal shelf from IKEA-not exactly Julia Childs pantry. Not to mention the 2 occasions that a full sized gray rat appeared. Not a cute little pet raton- a sneaky disease filled R A T. Yuck! Disgusting. Does this make you want to cook? Or, you know walk in that room. Yeah, it's safe but add those on to the 2 best chefs assistants that are always under foot. They just love to sit and watch me cook and bake, they help so well always measuring perfectly and never spilling. Right, there 2 years old and 5 months old they want all my attention now and helping is not there strong suit. It's fun at times but everyday, every meal- no.

I don't get the time, space or even enough people to feed to cook and bake the way I would like. But, the way they were talking it made it sound like I make a salad once a week and call it dinner. It's amazing that we aren't starving to death!

After all that foolishness- I finished some chores, she left, he packed and eventually I went to the grocery store for diapers. The baby was napping anyway and the big one was resting up against daddy, watching a show. It was a quick run- no cart, no list. I grabbed diapers and went to the self check out. While waiting some crazy lady crossed my path, looked at me and said something in some language and continued her conversation to nobody as she walked past. Weird.

Then, the guy ahead of me goes to check out- I step to his spot, my arms full of diapers, pull ups and more pull ups. He turns around, he apparently left something on the floor but I couldn't see it over my load. I took a step back with just my right foot and the chic behind me smacks me with her cart. Personal space bitch! Usually one would hear 'Oops, I'm sorry!' But, I received a "Ooh." Ooh, Ooh, my face fucking hurts from being smacked by 3 thousand diapers. Ooh! What the hell. Of course as I finished paying, I grab the receipt and some other bitch is right behind me trying to get my spot. It's a line-wait until I leave! Trying to run me out before I can get my stuff. I have 3 containers of diapers in express self check out - who the hell needs to get out of here more?? Just get out of my way and wait your turn.

I guess it was pick on Liz day-how fun.