Hubster is in the process of making blonde brownies as I type this.
I'm still not sure what parallel universe I'm in at the moment.
When we moved to Iowa, it meant that Hubster had to quit his research and development job. We talked about him getting another job while I did residency, but decided, at least for the time being, it would be best for our family if he stayed home with the boys.
So my double-math-and-physics-major-7-years-construction-working-dental-researching-hard-working husband became a stay at home dad.
It was a tough transition.
The first two months were fine. It felt like a vacation to Hubster. But then the reality that the house needs taking care of and meals need to be cooked and children need to be tucked in bed began setting in. The reality that these things need to happen every day is still setting in.
Hubster is the oldest of a family consisting primarily of boys. A lot of boys. He left home at the age of 18 without knowing how to cook, sort laundry, or clean a toilet. Okay, maybe he did know all that stuff at one time and just forgot along the way. I'm not sure. By the time I met him, he had been a bachelor for 6 years.
And he wasn't one of those bachelors with a sexy bachelor pad, who discussed imported versus domestic beers and had a few recipes hiding up his sleeve which he pulled out to impress girls. No, Hubster was a bachelor who ate Mountain Dew and Skittles for breakfast and kept Taco Bell in business for the other meals. The only furniture he had were things people had given to him when they came over and felt sorry that the guy had no place to sit and was sleeping on the floor.
Yes, and I fell for him hard.
During our marriage, I've been the one who does the majority of meal preparations. I would say all, but Hubster did occasionally put frozen pizza in the oven and he made very delicious fluffy mashed potatoes. Which he did about twice a year.
This was the extent of Hubster's domestic skills when he made the transition from sole source of income to stay at home dad.
In July, I woke up from a post call nap to Hubster grinning ear-to-ear, telling me dinner was ready. I groggily wondered downstairs to find the table beautifully set, and Hubster serving homemade gnocchi. Gnocchi is probably my favorite food of all times. Right behind seasonal Peeps. And Hubster, as a suprise, had made gnocchi from scratch. It was divine.
We went right back to our routine of frozen pizza and burritos. It's been that way for months.
But the last several weeks, things have been strange here.
I came home to Hubster making snickerdoodles last week. He made a vegetable chicken casserole the week before that. Two nights ago, we had hot apple crisp with vanilla ice cream. And tonight, blonde brownies.
We're sitting down to lunch of taco salads (that he also made) when he comments he found a great recipe for Navajo fry bread and can't wait to make Navajo tacos.
He doesn't complain when I watch Food Network. In fact, he says, "Well, that's not what I would do. I'd try a soup instead," when we watch Chopped.
His inner domestic goddess...god?...hero?...has been discovered.
The smell right now is almost overpowering. My mouth is watering. But I'm still wary. I may wake up at any moment or realize it's 1955 and the space-time-continuum has been disrupted.
Who is this guy, and what has he done with Hubster?