...not that there's anything wrong with that.
Well, I guess there would be something wrong with that. I know I would have a problem with it, and I hope TMW&BWITW would try to convince me otherwise.
Of course I'm not. But I have found myself really enjoying cooking, and sweeping the floor every day, and stressing when the uglies touch my sparkling clean sliding glass doors -- and heaven help them if they don't put the right color napkin out to match the placemat!
With school and football and Los Chavos down the street I don't get to do the classic sit down dinner too often, but there are days we actually look in the cookbook and pick something requiring measuring cups and a cutting board, and more pots and/or pans than will fit in the microwave. My skills aren't mad, but as with anything worth doing, cooking well requires practice and experience. So the most enjoyable part of cooking a meal isn't the ecstasy on our tastebuds when we're at the table, it's all in the prep. I enjoy getting the ingredients spread out all over the countertop, cookbook propped up on some jar or bowl I'll be searching for in a minute. I enjoy a beer when I cook, and olives speared out of the jar. I enjoy the uglies on the other side of the counter, sitting at the bar ordering milktinis or apple(juice)tinis. I don't really want them helping, the kitchen ain't big enough for the two of us, and the temptation to add pepper to everything or crack open every egg in the carton is too great. I want them to sit on the stools and talk to me, or pretend to listen while I ramble or lecture, have a game or tunes on the radio, or just play with the measuring cups and be there. It's good to just be. I find myself planning our next kitchen, with more countertops for mixing bowls and more room for my helpers to help, with an open space between the chopping block and the barstools so as the uglies get bigger and taller I can look across at them and be amazed, be proud, just be.