Chef Kevin

      Well I must give kudos to Kevin, as he has done a wonderful job taking care of me while I can't leave the bed. Not only does he now have to cook all of my food (and come home from work for lunch), but I am on a "no salt added" diet--so frozen food and take out is a no go. Meals have been better than expected, and he's made sure if he can't be here to cook something for me, someone else is. I must also add for those who aren't aware of Kevin's culinary skills, prior to this experience, this man had trouble making eggs and cream of wheat. He has also moved the DVD player upstairs, brought home walkie-talkies so we can communicate without disturbing the entire neighborhood, and basically brought me anything I need or want. That being said, I feel the need to share the catastrophe that occurred around 11:00 this morning.

        Kev worked very hard to make some pasta salad to have in the fridge for something new to eat the next few days. Directions of what to do next were shared over the walkie-talkies, and he had done everything short of add the italian dressing as my "just till it looks right" direction wasn't one this newly developed chef wanted to try. So up the stairs the large, beautiful bowl of pasta, tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, peppers, and chick peas comes--bottle of dressing ready on the side. In through the door just to see how good it looks, as the leg of the tray catches on the door frame and (as I'm sure you're already imagining) pasta and all the fixins fly across the room and all over the carpet. My heart breaks because I see the "I've had enough of this s---" look on Kevin's face. Curse words fly, my pregnancy tears start (because when anything happens now, I cry), and even the dog is so bewildered she sits at the door behind Kevin, not even attempting to snack on the delicious vittles now on her turf. 

          We've yet to share a good laugh over this, but I'm sure it will come. Kevin's frustration combined with my emotions allowed just enough time to clean up the mess, stop crying, and watch as Bailey slowly snuck into the room and waited for permission to lick up the remains (she really must have been frightened by all the commotion). More tears ensued as I began to think, "I can't do three more months of this" all with the lovely sound of a dog's tongue licking the floor to ingest every last morsel in the background.

          I wish I had a picture to share of the big spill, however, I didn't feel it would have helped the situation to say, "Wait Kev, let me snap a photo for the blog." Hahaha. Ok, my laughter is now here, and I hope you too got a good chuckle out of this one!