Reasons perhaps why maybe I shouldn't cook

I have a love hate relationship with the kitchen. I love food. I think I am a decent cook, but I have some of the world's pickiest family members so it is literally impossible for me to make one entree to please everyone in the family. And so I go back and forth, sometimes I try new and inventive combinations hoping to find a hidden treasure (rare, oh so rare) and sometimes I make things that some people like and other people can choke down an aspect thereof. And sometimes I go on strike and feed them plain pasta, rice and cheese and/or popcorn chicken to quell their hunger and hope that the side of fruit will provide at least some measure of vitamins.

I had just emerged from a somewhat lengthy stay on strike because of the migraines and since I've been feeling marginally better and DH's schedule is marginally less awful, I have attempted to cook. Thursday, I made black eyed pea soup with okra and elephant garlic from our CSA share. I believed CE would like it, DH would love it (we have something similar each New Year as made by DH's southern dad) and the boys would find some leftovers on which to survive or they would pick summer sausage bits out of the soup. No child would touch it and DH never came home that night. It was yummy. I'm freezing it for reintroduction later. Friday was our trunk or treat so children were placated with Little Caesar's pizza and sugar. Good times. Last night, I thought I had a winning combination: I made homemade pizza--cheese and pepperoni pizzas for the kidlets and thai chicken pizza for DH and I. Hmph. CE didn't like the sauce. Bam didn't like anything except the crust. Z, CW and M ate, so that's a pretty decent success in my book. Oh and DH and I enjoyed our pizza, or so we thought . . .

DH spent the night in GI distress and I was plagued with bizzaro dreams. First I was awakened when I slammed my knuckle on the headboard (I think), certain that a scorpion had stung me. So I spent the next several hours in delirious pursuit of said scorpion in the dark, awakened by every fan breeze and skin twitch, certain to be stung "again." And in the midst of scorpion hunting, I found myself plagued by my inability to recall the portuguese words to the chorus of The Spirit of God. And to add further insult to my sleep deprived brain, once I recalled those words (mission in Brazil), I found myself further worried that I couldn't remember the Dutch words that I had once known for a whole month in 2002 in preparation for our primary program AND I couldn't remember if I had appropriately thanked the non-member Dutch woman who had kindly taught me how to pronounce the words once I found them (in 2002). And I should probably have commented on Louise Plummer's blog (who is Dutch) how nice that Dutch woman was to teach me how to sing the words when she wasn't even LDS and had no idea what Primary was (now that Louise Plummer has a blog. I don't think anyone had a blog in 2002). She even made me a tape (not Louise Plummer, the nice non-member Dutch woman). Needless to say, morning came too soon.

So, today, I decided to make spaghetti squash and actual pasta because I imagined that my children could possibly not be fooled or amused by squash that looked like pasta and tasted pretty darn good (really, what isn't tasty when cooked with butter and basil?). Surprisingly, DH came out of his squash phobia long enough to try and like the squash. CE tried enough to earn a piece of zucchini bread and the rest kept to their actual pasta. And then, because the meal had been far too uneventful, while trying to clean up the pan in which I had baked the squash, I instead dropped it. It was glass; it was a lasagna pan--one of those extra big ones. It shattered in so many pieces that glass was flung the entire length and breadth of my kitchen, some of the family room and somewhat into the living room and down the hall to the laundry room. At this point, the only good thing I'm seeing about dinner is that while I painstakingly cleaned up the glass shards, DH put the kids very nearly to bed. I even got glass blowback in my shins from impact with the floor! And the glass managed to rip one of the fancy super strong Hefty trash bags (I'm going back to the Kirkland brand Costco bags tomorrow, sale schmale), so the escaping glass sliced my thumb. And now, even though I have swept the entire area multiple times, at least once with a wet paper towel, I know I will find new glass shards in surprising locations and my neurotic worst case scenario mind will dream up ways M will step on, ingest or otherwise be hurt by the pan whose squash contents she wouldn't eat either.

Popcorn chicken's looking better all the time!