Husband loves to cook. He caters events on the side and every week be makes a meal for 30 or so people from the local university for their meeting. He's rarely happier than when he's aproned up, buzzing around the kitchen, tasting little bits of this and that.
This works out well for me, as you can imagine.
The last few months have been horrible. I've been swamped at work, so much so that I often want to walk out at nine in the morning and crawl into bed at home because I'm drowning under the weight of what must be done right away. I'm teaching a class--for the first time ever--and find myself woefully unprepared for the task. My jewelry business is requiring massive amounts of time and the to-do list continues to grow. The organization for which I am chair of the board of directors is having a big event in one week. The house is messier than I like it and I have dozens of half-finished projects laying around. I'm so overwhelmed that simply functioning is becoming more than I can manage on some days.
But. But. The point is that I stumble downstairs each morning to find porridge ready or toast buttered. I have hot coffee or tea in a to-go mug by my purse. Many times I find a lunch packed and placed IN my giant purse ready to be carted to work. In the evenings I mumble something that I have a craving for and an hour later (or often less), it shows up, nicely plated, in front of my computer or on my studio desk. It's a miracle. And it's delicious.
I married a cook. And it's the best decision I've ever made.