August 23, 2004

If there is a possible disadvantage to having an actual weekend, it would be the effect it has on Fridays. Last Friday was one of those count-the-minutes-until-the-weekend type of days. I don't have many of those days, because counting the minutes until Sunday just doesn't have the same appeal. But last Friday, I was itching to go home.

I had several reasons to want to start my weekend as early as possible. Foremost was the fact that Shorn had been at home cooking all day long, and I was eager to see the carnage.

Yeah. A three day weekend, all to himself, and what does he decide to do? He cooks. He cooks a feast. How cool is this man?

I knew that he was cooking, of course, because we had arranged to feed all of his friends at Friday's game. We had planned it together, and gone shopping together the night before. I was there when my husband selected the most gigantic side of pork know to man. For his part, Shorn was very matter-of-fact throughout the whole procedure, and I remained somehow unaware of the ambitious scale of this little dinner.

I came home on Friday to the scene at the left, and a house that smelled like the inside of a (good) Mexican restaurant.

I also found an unusually bouncy husband. He was fluttering around, going on about things like "corning ware" and "cooler" and "empanadas are fun" and "forgot to get ice".
And then he stopped, skidding to a halt.

"Come here." He said, with a glimmer in his eyes. "I want you to try an empanada." He led me to the kitchen table and shoved a wedge of pastry towards me.

"I really enjoyed making these." He said earnestly. He then scampered off to find the corning ware.

I took a bite of the empanada. Good, but mostly pastry. "These are good, honey." I told him. .

"Yeah, " he said from the kitchen "I had a lot of fun making those."

I took another bite, this time getting some of the chorizo/potato filling. "Wow," I laughed, "these are really good."

Shorn beamed.

It was not long after this, as I was packing the empanadas for the trip over to Scott's house, that I noticed exactly how much food Shorn had prepared. There was the turkey taco meat, and the carnitas--either of which could have fed the entire group. There was homemade salsa, and some cilantro/sour cream thing, and bowls and bowls of taco fixin’s. And then there was the pile of empanadas. Twenty four empanadas. For eight people. Who are also expected to eat carnitas. And tacos.

I envisioned eating empanadas for days.

As it happened, the entire meal was a success. It was well received at Friday's game, and then again at Sunday's game--with the possible exception of Liam, who had the misfortune to attend both dinners. He had it easy, however. Shorn and I have been eating empanadas all weekend. Except for for the few meals where we ate carnitas. The only break from the left-over Mexican was the trip to Chevy's on Saturday. Enough to try anybody's culinary devotion.

But even as out little family enjoys the last of the empanadas, Shorn remains excited, planning out his next feast.

During the course of the weekend I have joked with him that I'll fall in love with my job and make him adopt the housewife gig. And that sends my mind off on a chain reaction of fantasy. I'll get a great job doing some sort of writing, and I'll have enough time to do even more writing on my own. And I'll get some jobs on the side and eventually be able to go freelance. I'll lock myself in my office for hours on end, and take my laptop with me everywhere I go. I will be consumed by my art! I will be happy, but mostly insane. And all the time, Shorn will be right by my side, tending the children and baking empanadas!

To which Shorn responds "Um...I'll try...I guess." Because that's the type of guy he is.