My husband does all the cooking at our house. I realize, of course, that this makes me a very lucky woman. In fact, I’m sure this puts me in the top 2% of lucky women, right up there with the lady from Indiana who won a gazillion dollars in the lottery and Jon Bon Jovi’s wife. 

I mean Bon Jovi’s cute and all that, but really, what good is cute if he can’t make a meatloaf that even the kids love?  And it’s not just about dinner either.  If we have a pot luck lunch at work (and we do this fairly often in my office) my coworkers beg for Tony’s miniature meatballs. I do not attempt to pass these off as my own.  I can’t, because I have been asked repeatedly for the recipe, and I have no idea what he puts in there.  It’s his secret and that’s okay.  He doesn’t need to know how much I spend on highlights at the hair salon, and I stay out of his meatball recipe. There are some things even a spouse doesn’t need to know. 

I am very thankful to have a husband who enjoys cooking, especially since we both have demanding careers and are often exhausted by the time we get home.  My idea of relaxing after a long day is a nice glass of wine, and a warm bubble bath.  Fortunately, Tony’s is making lasagna. I am only a mediocre cook at best. My children love to tell the story of “The time the Hamburger Helper was Crunchy.” (Can I help it if the noodles took longer to cook than it said on the box?) Meanwhile, Tony could easily open a catering service if he ever gets tired of working in law enforcement, so this arrangement works out well. I think I’ll keep him. The kids second that motion.