Crybaby me.

Tonight's dinner was a total debacle. Lovely spring night, hubby goes to the store and plans an entire dinner, bleu cheese stuffed burgers, corn on the cob.

We sit down to eat, and after two bits of my burger, I realize that there is no way the melted bleu cheese is even remotely palatable to me. Hubby insists on pausing his dinner to make another burger sans the bleu. I get teary because I don't want his dinner to get cold. He grills burger number 2, and takes his burgers out to eat while he is grilling. He grills up a fine-looking burger, tops it with good old American cheese and brings it in for me. As I attempt to put the burger on the bun with a spatula, disaster. Burger bounces off spatula, into my shirt, slides down the cabinet door and hits the tile floor. Cue more tears. Hugs from hubby, smeared mascara all over his shirt.

Hubby now pulls the leftover semi-frozen ground beef out of the freezer to concoct burger number 3. At this point, I don't even know if the charcoal is still hot...it was. That burger did the trick. As I ate it in front of the TV, toggling between the Daily Show and CNN Election Results (go Obama!) as hubby was downstairs folding the laundry--he did every stitch of laundry in he house today, his last day off.

I really don't deserve him.

If he's half as good a dad as he is a husband, we will have the luckiest, most loved child in the world.