~ Usurper ~

Sit back and read a story of betrayal.  Brace yourself for a tragedy and travesty so disheartening, you’ll be left weeping bitter, salty tears.

The story revolves around Macaroni and Cheese, My Captain, the rest of my traitorous family, a prosthetic knee, and me.  You can tell just by those players that this will be a real seat-gripper, can’t you?

Understand this:  I love to cook.  I always have.  I also love to eat.  And almost more than those two combined, I love to feed.

And I’ve gotten pretty good at it.  Almost got cocky about it, really.  There are few problems in life I can’t solve with a decent Baklava.  People know if you are hungry, I can fix it.

Last week I had an arthritic knee taken out of my right leg, and had a new, prosthetic one put in.  It’s been a rough ride because I’ve had not one, but two infections after my surgery.  The knee is doing really well; but I’m still a sick puppy, and on more antibiotics than my stomach can handle.

Nausea has been my constant companion.

So not only can I not stand long enough to cook, I can’t really even enjoy the thought of food. This is the first time in my life for that, I assure you!

Enter My Captain.  If you have read any of my previous posts, you’ll know he is a Captain, Station Commander, Firefighter, Paramedic, Rescue Technician, former Task Force Leader, builder, athlete, outdoorsman, and general manly-man.  But even as varied is talents are, “Cook” has never really something he is known for.

Never the less, over this past week and a half,  he has really stepped up to the plate.  The entire week that I was in the hospital, he never left my side.  And the last few days that I have been home, he has only left my side to do the work that would normally fall under my responsibilities, like laundry, or helping me get in the shower, or preparing ice bags for me, or making sure the kids got to their scheduled events on time, or charting my medicine schedule, or, my personal favorite, putting my jammies in the dryer to warm them for when I got out of the shower. (Ladies, THAT is where you separate the men from the boys!)

Absolutely grateful for this man’s giving nature, the extreme challenge of the last 10 days has been mitigated considerably.  And everything on that list he has done in his own, inimitable, perfectionist way.  It’s been amazing.  I’ve fallen in love with him again, and again, this week alone.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday My Captain cooked dinner.  It was a special dinner – Critter had a birthday!  Critter wanted homemade Mac-n-cheese, fresh mangos, and a “BOB” (from Monsters Vs. Aliens) birthday cake.  Obviously I wasn’t up to the task.   But this was a big deal because Critter loves my homemade Mac-n-cheese.  So I tried to supervise (micromanage) the culinary proceedings until my nausea quite literally drove me out of the kitchen, along with My Captain’s constant, “All Right!  All Right!  I got it already!”

Finally, it was finished.  My Captain, my children, Grandma Jane and I sat down.  It began almost immediately.  “This is the BEST Mac-n-cheese I’ve ever had!”  and, “Wow, Mom has got to do whatever it is you do with this recipe!” and, “Can I have thirds?”.  Even my own mother, who has always had my back in life, got on the bandwagon with, “I don’t usually like Mac-n-cheese, Troy, but I sure would like the recipe for this.”

And me?  My contribution to the discussion?  “It needs salt.”

My Captain hasn’t smirked.  He hasn’t snickered, or rubbed it in.  He has been ever the humble gentleman about it.

And do you know why?

Sure, sure, it has something to do with the good man he is, but deeper than that, it is something far more powerful.

He knows that he has to sleep sometime, and stealing even a piece of my Kitchen Goddess Crown is a dangerously perilous marital crime!

I will say, though, it was tasty……

dammit.