Yesterday evening I sat at the kitchen table while TB cooked dinner (nothing fancy, just a simple pasta dish) and this was going through my head:
No, you’ve chopped the onion on the wrong board…now anything else chopped on there will taste of onions.
You’ve put the green pepper in too late.
Don’t leave a wooden spoon in the washing up water…the wood will expand.
No…you’ve salted the water before it’s boiling and that can pit the pan.
Oh God…you’ve put a hot pan on the chopping board and that will open the grain.
Etc etc etc…
All this when I’m feeling fine.
How on earth will I relax after chemotherapy when there are people in my kitchen abusing my knives?
(Knives which get a little sharpening action each time I use them)
I have a plan…Post-It notes:
“The pink towels do not belong here!”
“This drawer is for table cutlery…scissors are kept in the one below”
“I love you with all my heart”
TB and I have very traditional roles…he does the boys’ jobs, I do the girls’ stuff. I take care of him and he provides for me. It is going to be very hard not to feel like I am letting him down. He tells me that for now he will look after me and when I’m better I can look after him…and put everything back in it’s rightful place ;o)
