Tonight, however, I tripped over one of those rare moments of doubt. After whipping up an actually tasty (as opposed to theoretically tasty, my usual M.O.) Italian dinner, I hunkered down - in my "Trophy Wife" apron, no less - to finish my personalized recipe binder project.
|And here you thought I was kidding about the apron.|
"Is this what I passed two Bar exams and learned all those pretentious Latin terms for?" I mused as I enclosed the last recipe, torn from some Smug Mummy "Cooking For Your Family Organically, Sustainably, and Taste-Free-Ly" magazine, in its little plastic tomb. "Next thing you know, I'll be ordering one of those Intergalactic Type-A Mom Organizer Agenda Uber-Schedules of Doom that Blogworld is all atwitter about again."
I paused to take another bite of said tasty dinner - believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are by this all-too-rare cooking result - and checked the video monitor, observing the slumbering Master P as I chewed on the thought. Am I OK with a life of cutesy aprons & insanely well-organized recipe binders?
The answer is yes - for now, at least. Should the need or career inspiration strike at a later date, the AH & I will revisit it then. In the meantime, I'll apply my Type A-Minus lawyering skills to keeping pediatrician appointments straight and accidentally cooking tasty meals; they're more related than you would think. And not to get too "I am woman, hear me roar" screechy about it, but I'm heartened and grateful to have the choice to decide what's right for my Ralph Lauren ad-style family, which may change at a later date, and which is not necessarily the same as what is right for yours, blah blah blah.
Either way, I'm keeping the apron.