It’s not a mundane task. I add cardamom to the banana bread he will take with him to eat in the truck, extra vanilla, too. I make up a menu of dinners from which he chooses what he wants that night and adds the dish to the bottom of The List for me each day. I mix his favorites, like the Greek chicken and rice I’ll make today, with new things from a broad range of cuisines, like the Korean spicy pork and noodles we had last might, made partly with the food I grow for us.
I have time for all this because of the freedom Papabear has given me to choose my own work these last years. I am motivated to do it by my desire for our good health and by his very vocal appreciation of what I do. I love to give him something to make him happy after he’s worked all day to give us this beautiful life.
Cooking is an expression of love. That’s one reason I love the fact that Papabear taught our son by example that it’s good for a man to be able to cook really well (our son also observed him express his gratitude every night and learned to always say thank you). Papabear could do this for himself and for me. But it is a great pleasure for me to do it for him and a kindness for him to give me that pleasure.
In this way, a necessity of life becomes a means of celebrating one another daily.