I don't think I'll ever be one of those people who just loves to cook or bake. I'm not that gal. But I am finding joy in cooking for Kenny. I know it's just a sandwich, but I slapped some cheese, omelet, and bacon between two pieces of bread and grilled it for our lunch today while Kenny was in the shower, and it was heavenly. And it was surprising. I just got dressed and thought, I'll make some sandwiches now. I didn't agonize over it, overplan it, or discourage myself by thinking about how unsuccessful I might be. I simply made the sandwiches. It was my fifth time to cook this week (I've finished dinner just now so make it six!), and I'm getting more comfortable with the idea. On Monday and Tuesday morning I was up before 9 (MIRACLE OF MIRACLES, I know) and in the kitchen whipping up some juk (Korean rice porridge) or omelets. I've even convinced myself that next weekend, I will attempt to make shikhye, a Korean sweet iced rice drink. Already purchased my barley malt and everything.
I feel like I am changing, or rather being more fully born into myself. I like seeing that I am not who I think I am. I do not have the limits I convince myself exist. And isn't it so fitting that it would be food to teach me this?
Okay, now I must go see if my dwenjang chiggae is up to par! And fold laundry. And wash poop off of BoBear's back feet. And also catch up on more of season 5 of The Office with the HubbO. And write.
I am in love with our homelife.
