Cooking with the RHoWM

I just made an abbreviation for myself!

Last night, my husband and I were back-to-back in the kitchen, making things to eat (as one does).  I was convinced that I had to prolong the life of the avocados we bought the other day, and I did this by mashing them up with pulled chicken into an avocado chicken salad.  Hooray.  T-storm decided to put bunches of vegetables in the rice cooker and curry some stuff up.

Meanwhile, I double fisted a Vitamin Water and a PBR at once.  My beloved husband alluded to filling the (small) kitchen with farts.  Then he began singing each and every song that popped into his head, all from a wide variety of vocal genres.

We bumped into each other and laughed as our cat crawled directly underneath our feet, burrowing in some bizarre manner (or just waiting for some chicken to drop).

A typical night cooking with our little family.

Lately, T-storm is all about cooking with quinoa: in chili, in whatever really, and what follows is a few outstanding examples.

our cat

It occurs to me that I haven’t shared any photos of him, at least via this medium.

the M on his head is for MALEVOLENT

This photo was from when we first brought him home.  He’s grown a bit, but he can still be a cranky kitty, especially if you alter the physical state of any blanket anywhere near him.

One of my VE (varying exceptionalites; students for whom it is recommended they not be mainstreamed) kids found out I was almost 30, and said, out loud because some of these children especially lack any sort of filter, “Thirty!?  That’s when the loneliness comes!!  You gonna be all alone at home!”

I stopped, laughed, looked out at the teacher aides in the class, and said back to him, “Sweetie, you know I have a husband and a cat at home, why would I be lonely?”

He was insistent.  “You gonna be sittin’ at home, pettin’ the cat, waitin’ for your husband to come home from work.  It’s gonna be lonely!”

I laughed again, and the aides were about to double over.  “I’m here with you guys all day!”

“But when you come home from work, you gonna be pettin’ the cat and be lonely!”

Of course, I tell my husband this, actually after I told other people because we haven’t had nearly enough time together lately to share hilarious stories and it’s a pretty hilarious story, and the husband responds, “Tell him it’s typically the other way around.”

(In case you haven’t figured it out, “housewife” is a misnomer.  I work entirely too much, yet strive to maintain a rich domestic life.)

Well.

Right now T-storm is in grad class, and he’ll be there until 10pm.

The freaking cat is sitting on hubs’s  chair, waiting for him to get home.  He squeaked and squawked when I got home, but NOTHING like he will when the hubs comes home.  He will go berserk.  He will run and jump and be excited for hours.

Sure, the cat likes me, and he likes it that I’m the one that feeds him (because of things we’ve read/heard about toxoplasmosis, and how that can even affect women of child-bearing age, T-storm will be on litter duty for probably the next 5-7 years).  But nothing, nothing can match the cat’s excitement when my husband comes through the door.  Nothing.

That cat loves my husband more than probably anything else in the world.

Good to know we’ve got something in common.

(Today’s alternate lesson: it’s okay to laugh at students.  Even ones with severe autism because sometimes they say the most hilarious things.)