Not sure who I'm perfect for, because they haven't shown up yet--the only guys that think me liking guy things makes me more attractive aren't actually attracted to me.

Unfortunately for me, this guy isn't real: [link]

all this talk of fathers ability (or lack there of) just reminded me of a story of my dad in the kitchen. After grad school I was living with him for awhile. His gf (who does ALL the housework & cooking) went to Ireland for her yearly trip to visit her mother. So Dad & I were going to trade off "I cook, you clean" while she was gone. For the first week, I did all the cooking. One night, I was exhausted from work, so he said he'd cook. Rock on, gives me time to snooze on the couch. I wake up to find a can of beans on the stove. LITERALLY, the can of beans, with a low flame, cooking on the stove. I freak. WTF! "what's the problem? I removed the label this time. It's one less pot. I was doing it for you". Um, THIS TIME?!? apparently he has done this before. Ya, I cooked the rest of the time until Olive came home.

My dad not only taught me, and presumably my older siblings, how to cook, but he also taught my mother how to cook. Well, he taught me how to cook some things - I'm a whiz at cooking scrambled eggs on plain stainless steel and not having them stick due to his instructions. And mom taught me some things - essentially, how to read and follow a recipe. And yet, somehow it was mostly mom's responsibility to cook.

I can honestly say, that from the times Daniel has had a meal ready for me when I got home from work, it does feel good. But in general, I find even more pleasure from cooking together with someone. I love it at home with Daniel, and it is also a heck of a lot of fun at work. I tend to feel that the collaboration tends to make things even better than if I were working on my own.

Unless the collaborator is someone so inept that s/he thinks they are doing me a favor to start baking fish at 3pm for a 5pm supper, and then gets hurt feelings when I'm less than thrilled. But that is a story for another time.

My father-in-law has Ryan asleep on his chest. He's currently shouting into the phone in Shanghainese at his nephew (he's a lecturer in biochemistry, he always talks that loudly.) Ryan seems neither to notice nor care.

What a fun and beautiful mental image I have from this.

Go, MM! Much success to you!

(((Suzie))) I'm very sorry for your loss, love.

billytea - is Wallybee doing that stay-indoors-and-be-waited-on-hand-and-foot-for-the-first-three-months thing? Which I understand is traditional?

(By which I mean Not Allowed To Leave The House level of stay indoors?)

billytea - is Wallybee doing that stay-indoors-and-be-waited-on-hand-and-foot-for-the-first-three-months thing? Which I understand is traditional?

Yeah, not really. She is getting heaps of rest, which is just as well, because the schedule of providing milk for the little bub looks pretty brutal to me. And, she hasn't had to do housework, with me off from work and her parents living with us. But she's still up and active. She's been to a couple of lactation classes, taken the baby out for a walk or two, been to the doctor herself as well. Her family respects tradition, but doesn't feel bound by it.

We've actually swapped with her parents for the moment. Both Wallybee and I have colds (she had a bronchial infection too, which did see her ordered back to bed, but she's got more energy now); so her parents are dealing with the little fella and we're looking after the house. (I suspect in vain; Ryan's started coughing, and he seems a bit miserable tonight. I think he's been hit by lurgi, poor noodle. He is, thankfully, now old enough for child-sized doses of paracetamol, but it hasn't come to that yet.)

And then there's my situation, where I've had well-meaning but utterly condescending people tell me what a "catch" I am simply because I love baseball.

To this day, Lewis gets the "Damn you're lucky—" when sports come up in conversation and I'm involved. Dude, I loved football and baseball and any number of other sports before Lewis. (Hell, I was the jock, not him.)

And when I travel, if I have time before I leave, I'll make him a brisket or pork loin or something he can nibble on/use in various ways, but if I don't, then he's completely on his own. First time I did that, my mother was appalled. She was like, "What did you leave Lewis to eat?" and I responded, "Made sure he had plenty of money-- gas in the car is up to him." (Since he can never remember the ATM pin code.) She thought that was terrible, but then again, my marriage has lasted longer than any of hers.

This whole "helpless male" bullshit annoys the hell out of me.

Me too.

You are a fucking adult. Either you learn to fend for yourself or you find a way to get what you want by yourself. I don't understand why it's acceptable for men not to be able to take care of themselves or to do anything other than sit on their asses and be waited on. Learn how to cook, clean or whatever, or pay someone to do it for you.

I agree.

I am the youngest of seven. With the exception of Janice, who never made it past her first birthday, the rest of us were raised with the example of both parents being fully capable of taking care of us. It's true that in general for a long time Dad was working long hours as a mechanic and mom kept house, but that was more of a rural upper-midwest thing than a matter of choices for a long time. When they had time together, the balance shifted and he was right in there with her.

We were all raised with an independent spirit, and cooperation and collaboration built-in. We learned by example that both parents could do things other families seemed to never have crossover skills. (My mom loved mowing the lawn, it got her away from us!)

I am the youngest, and none of us thought it was wrong or even odd that mom went out and got a job as the last of us got old enough. With all of us old enough to cook, clean, patch our own pants, mow the lawn, wash clothes and various other activities she had more free time and liked staying busy. It probably explains why she's still up and going strong over 80 years, now. (Well, limping a bit for now, but her ankle is getting better...Stupid attack crabs.)

Sign up for Free Chocolate every Friday 9am-Midnight (ET) at Mars.com: [link]

My father taught me how to cook. I vividly remember my mother charring the pot the one time she tried to make soup from a mix, rather than a can. I think she took great pride in *attempting* to cook for her family, but in reality by the time i was 7 i was preparing about 80% of my meals (not including school lunches, which were purchased by the week.

I think everyone would appreciate coming home to a meal already prepared and waiting, but that doesn't mean it's some sort of entitlement for omnivorous husbands :)