Happy Mother's Day!

I think it’s fair to say Mom’s generally don’t get the credit they deserve. Given that it’s Mother’s day on Saturday I did the most practical thing a guy could do on Mother’s day for his wife. I let her get out of the house, far out of the house, a couple hundred miles actually, in Chicago. Now, partly this was because my sister was having her bachelorette party, but I’ll take some credit as when she asked if I’d mind if she went by giving her a strong message. GO! So she’s out having fun with the girls in the windy city and I’m back home managing two precocious kids. It’s a lot like being a Drill Sergeant, with a little less authority.

Now, as any Mom can tell you a big part of managing a household is feeding it. I’ve actually seen this first hand, as every time I come back from military training it seems like I’m constantly helping out in the kitchen. Well maybe not constantly. Let’s say often. Periodically? Fine. My WIFE is in the kitchen constantly. I help out, but don’t spend nearly as much time there as she does. Part of this is efficiency. It takes her half the time to cook and clean as it seems to take me, and my attempts to cook/clean/put away almost always result in an eyeroll.

Now it’s not that I don’t like cooking. I just don’t have a whole lot of practice with it. Also, most of my cleaning abilities are simply drying dishes. I can make you a mean sandwich. My grilled cheese is top notch, and my kids say that my mac and cheese is amazing because I make it with luv (they have been taught to say that). I also possess some mean Grill Skills but there ends my cooking ability.

My Wife on the other hand is an excellent cook. She can whip up pretty much whatever you’re craving for, and she’ll do it in the healthiest way possible so you don’t even have to feel guilty about it. She’s pretty meticulous too; she plans out meals a week in advance which cuts down on food costs so we only buy what we need. Normally this is great, because she’s cooking. But she’s gone, and I’m cooking.

This morning I made waffles.

It was actually the first time I can remember making waffles. I’m sure I made waffles with my Mother at some point. But that was a long time ago, and I believe the memory was lost during the fourth round of shooters on a Friday night my junior year of college.

I was given very good instructions the night before by my wife over the phone. She had already left you see, giving her plausible deniability. She told me where everything was, and told me I’d be fine. I was not as sure about that as she was. Her- “Just follow the directions sweetie.”

Me - “I can’t find them.”

Her- “I think they’re on page 76. I’m not sure, I just open the book and there it is.” Of course she does.

They weren’t actually. Those were the pancakes. They were on the next page over, “Ok I got them. I think I can do this.”

“You’ll be fine…” She then proceeded to let me know she bought bacon. We tend to get bacon every Saturday. I usually cook that actually. Our microwave has a button.

Later I went to bed and did not dream about waffles.

My kids of course woke at their normal time, about 6:45. As I had been up till about 3:30 talking with my brother the night before that was a bit early for me. They were kicked out of the bedroom. However guilt set in as I knew I had a breakfast to make, so I was out of bed by 8. No rest for mothers and certainly no rest for a daddy trying to do what mom does.

Kids were busy on the computer and I set to getting out ingredients. I took a look at the directions. “Makes 6 waffles”. Six waffles? That’s not very much. I can eat six waffles myself. I better triple that. Six cracked eggs later I look at the directions again. Two cups flour. Two cups? I haven’t added milk yet. And if I triple that there is NO WAY it’s fitting in the bowl. When my wife does this it fits in the bowl. Hmm.

I’ll take out two eggs and just make a double batch. Guess I’m having eggs this morning.

I finish following the directions filling the bowl quite literally to the rim. Thank goodness I only went with a double batch. I find the beater without trouble and whip everything up. That part makes sense. It’s a power tool. I’m supposed to know how to use power tools.

Meanwhile I have the waffle iron heating up. The directions said to do that and I’m eyeing it suspiciously. It seems like it’s taking a long time for me to finish with the batter and I’m wondering if it’s good to leave it plugged in. I finally decide that at college they always had them plugged in so it must be fine.

Batter done, my daughter comes in and tells me I’m supposed to use the plastic ladle to put the batter on the iron. “That’s how Mom does it.” But then I won’t know how much I’m putting on. Never mind. I have to impress the daughter. I use the ladle and close the lid. My daughter leaves the kitchen satisfied I know what I’m doing. Good thing too, since the latch has popped open and I’ve got batter spilling out all over. I obviously used too much. Batter spews forth from the sides like lava from an active volcano. I try to re-latch it and end up just holding it together.

The light on the iron comes on. Uh…. What’s that for? Is that the timer? It wasn’t on before. As I think about that I realize I haven’t yet set the timer on the microwave. The directions said five minutes, but I’m been fighting the volcanic batter flow for probably a minute now. I set the timer for 4 minutes and hope. The light on the iron turns off. I still have a good 45 secs on the microwave, but something tells me I should be done, so I open the iron.

Ok. That doesn’t look right. Two waffles look more or less fine but the other two have somehow split in half and are on both the top and bottom of the iron. I try to pry them off with a fork and it takes a good deal of effort. Pieces and chunks of waffle go all over the counter. Good thing my daughter left, the counter looks like a battle zone. Three waffles didn’t make it, but their sacrifice was not in vain. I salvaged one. It is…let’s say extra crispy.

I look nervously at the directions that say something about putting oil in the iron, but only if it’s not a non-stick pan. I look back at the iron. That’s non-stick, though from my last attempt I wouldn’t have been able to tell. There are still bits of waffle stuck to the iron. Unless I scrap the heck out it, it isn’t coming off, and I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to do that to a non-stick pan. I sigh and try again, using considerably LESS batter.

I also add Bailey’s to my coffee.

The light goes on, and then later switches off. Yeah that’s definitely a timer. These waffles turn out ok, though it’s obvious I could have used a bit more batter. I continue this process as I start the bacon. Cooking the bacon makes me feel a bit more confident, as I push the bacon button and then the 4. Why couldn’t the waffles be like that?

The kids come up. My daughter does indeed see the catastrophe that is the counter and looks at me quizzically. I tell her I used a bit too much batter and shoo her into the dining room. I surrender bacon, syrup and whip cream and continue making waffles. Happily the kids seem to like the waffles well enough but they don’t seem to be eating very many of them. They finish, eating 3 waffles apiece, and I still a have half a bowl of batter left, 6 waffles and two eggs. The double batch seems less and less like a good idea every time another set of fresh waffles appears. I finally resolve to freeze those 6 at a time and start throwing them into the freezer.

Finally finished, I fry up the eggs quick and have a monster breakfast an hour and half after I started. It’s excellent, and I do enjoy it, even though the kids have used up all the whipped cream. I eat quickly because I have to clean up the kitchen. This takes another good half hour. Looking at the clock, it’s almost time for lunch. No problem, I can do sandwiches once the kids are hungry.

I have conquered waffles! I fed the kids and there is a mountain of waffles in the freezer that can be used to feed the aforementioned children later in the week! Huzzah! Ok, what’s for dinner tonight?

I check the list.

Pizza.

Oh thank God.