I don’t air my dirty laundry on my blog. I have aired clean laundry a couple of times, but only because Squish was sleeping in it. I don’t usually take on the Daily Post challenges, either, especially the ones that involve any kind of controversy. But I read today’s challenge, which discusses something-something, polls, something-something, divisive issues. And it got me to thinking. I wonder if a poll could save my marriage.
I know. The challenge is to discuss whether we prefer ebooks or paperbacks, but I haven’t the energy to beat a dead horse (Incidentally, polls show that 9 out of 10 people surveyed prefer hardcover books for beating a dead horse). I’ll cover this part kind of quick.
I have an e-reader, so I read both. Paper books have intrinsic resale value while e-books don’t even belong to you if they have a DRM, say something about e-books being freakishly expensive, add a little note about saving shelf space by using an e-reader, and done.
Now on to the real topic that is on my heart: my relationship with my husband.
Every once in awhile, we get blind-sided; totally taken by surprise; knocked for a complete and utter loop. Now is one of those times. We thought we had the parenting thing worked out. We agreed on the general principles, and we’ve been able to talk through almost any conflict that arises. But we missed something along the way. We never talked about grilled cheese sandwiches.
I’m teaching the Padawan to cook. Well, cook may be a bit of a stretch. I’m teaching him to feed himself. Last week he learned how to make a grilled cheese sandwich. He did a great job with minimal supervision. He let the butter melt, dropped the sandwich in and toasted over medium heat until golden brown, then did the same for the other side. Confidence soaring, he asked to make them for the family. Conflict arose.
There he was, prepping his bread and cheese like a little soldier, melting his butter in the pan just as he had been taught. He had no more than tossed the sandwich into the pan when my husband uttered the fateful words; “You’ll want to flip that over and get butter on both sides.” Confused and uncertain, my poor son followed his father’s instructions, which resulted in a sad sandwich that was rather dry and decidedly non-buttery.
Let me back up a moment. My husband is a good man, but he brought baggage into the marriage. He never learned to make grilled cheese properly. Left to his own devices as a college student, he taught himself to butter the bread before sticking it in the pan. It was cute at first, like watching a baby eat a sock, but it has since lost its charm, especially since this behavior has now impacted how we raise our offspring.
Words were said that cannot now be unsaid, mostly to the effect of “You’re doing it wrong,” and “That’s going to burn.” Feelings have been hurt. Mostly my husband’s. No one wants to be told their grilled cheese is dry. And my poor son is caught in the middle.
I need your help. Am I way off base here?
I know that I don’t usually bring controversy into my blog, and this is a heated topic. A delicious, melty, buttery, heated topic. Please keep comments kind and constructive. Make grilled cheese sandwiches for others the way you would have them make them for you. Or something like that.