W finally got it. The sickness that has seemed to take over most of the city. I thought he had escaped it. and then....the runny nose came...and we've moved on from there. I thought I would be pulling my hair out by now but he's a good sicky man. He just sat around today and watched tv, cut up a piece of paper into a gazillion frickin' pieces all over the den, and hasn't sat on Pman...yet. He wasn't up for the grocery store. You know W is sick when.... so we will be having delicious Pasta Bolgese leftovers that J cooked up for the Super Bowl. You know, the dish that he cooked in my beloved Dutch Oven and ruined. Technically, it's his oven because I gave it to him for Christmas or his birthday one year. So he can do with it what he wants. The final product was superb so I am not really mad and we have gotten a lot of use out of it. Really, it's a funny story.
I was on my way out with friends and as I was waiting for the horn J was beginning to prep. I saw him cutting an onion (in a way in which I wouldn't cut an onion and we all know I have incredible knife skills) so I asked him if I could help.
"When are you leaving?"
The next thing I knew he was washing a sippy cup. I got the message loud and clear. He didn't want my help so FINE! I will wait outside. Which I did.
When I got home the front door was open. I thought he had seen the car pullup and had graciously opened it for me. but the iron gate was locked. Wierd. Then I saw W standing there and saw the back door open.
"Daddy burned the food." He was smiling. Karma's a bitch ain't it?
Anyway, he had a small mishap but it didn't compromise the dish. He did a great job and we ate well for the big game. So we gained a good meal, lost a good pot. Only one casualty. Not bad.