Last night, I cooked. Shocking, isn't it? After all, George does most of the actual cooking around here. I just reheat.
Anyway, I made a fabulous dinner: homemade boursin cheese on toasted baguette appetizer, broiled salmon, mashed potatoes, broccoli. In the middle of cooking, I started to feel sick and by the time I fixed everyone's plates, all I wanted was to go upstairs and curl up in the fetal position, which I did.
A little while later, Jack came to check on me. He can't stand for me to nap or be in bed when everyone is up. I had him fetch his school book so he could read to me, and then George joined us and said a little dramatically, "I guess I'll have to make my own sandwich for tomorrow." I still felt crummy but as Jack wasn't going to leave me alone, we went downstairs...where I saw a totally clean kitchen. AWESOME!
So yesterday, I was grateful that George cleaned the very messy kitchen and made his own sandwich. And today, I am grateful that I feel much better and have his left-overs from the weekend so I don't have to cook again for the rest of the week.
Which is a good thing because, clearly, cooking makes me sick.