Lately, it seems to be a time of firsts in our house. Last week we bought our first ever headboard and footboard. And the other night, for the first time in our marriage, I did what Stan has been waiting and expecting me to do for18 years…
We had my parents to dinner the other night. I wanted to prepare a feast for us. I had everything organized and ready to roll. We were going to have brined turkey, cooked on the Big Green Egg, grilled asparagus, salad and stuffing ~ but not just any stuffing and certainly not stuffing right out of a box but stuffing the way my mom fixes it. Celery and onions cooked in pounds of butter, with apple added for extra moist, extra delicious mounds of gooey stuffing with a golden crispy top…just the way I adore.
I set about all of my tasks and was preparing the apple for the stuffing when it happened for the first time in 18 years of marriage. Instead of slicing the apples I sliced the tip off of my thumb. Stan was watching my face when it happened and I took off for the hills as soon as I felt the blade slice through the skin, holding the flap tight against against the wound to stop the bleeding. Both Stan and my mom (who is a nurse) tried to see what I had done but my embarrassment was deep and I took to tend to my wound alone.
Stan has been waiting for this minute since the first time he saw me pick up a knife. He never has liked watching me cut anything up and he usually tries to step in if I’m cutting something like a watermelon or a squash. Or he’ll just stand there and hold his head in his hands and watch in muted horror as I slice and dice with reckless abandon.
He really has never liked to watch me wield a knife. But it was brought home forcefully the night he tried to pre-program 911 into our home phone as I prepared dinner. He thought he knew what he was doing but he thought wrong. Instead of programming the number in he actually called 911 and hung up. They immediately called back and asked to talk to a female in the house ~ uh, me. They wanted to make sure I was OK and it really wasn’t a domestic violence call. I assured them it wasn’t and went back to slicing and dicing with Stan holding his head in his hands.
Poor Stan. I think I’ve given him more gray hairs than the kids have with my lack of skills wielding a knife.
He really is not an overly protective guy or a hoverer but he just can’t get over seeing me with a knife in my hands…evidently with good reason. I’m happy to report my thumb has healed but my ego is still a little wounded. But that’s OK, these are lessons to the kids…be safe with a knife or you just might slice your fingertip off, and be a little protective when you must. I promise from now on, I’ll try to be safer with a knife. I guess I need to set a good example for all of our kiddos. And as for the other night, I turned all slicing and dicing over to Stan for the love of our children…