My Husband, The Picky Eater, and I Know My Soup Looks Disgusting

In a picture perfect world, my house would be sparkly clean, I would have dinner on the table every night, and my husband would happily eat it. Well, too bad I don't live in a house. It's a tiny, one bedroom apartment. And too bad I don't have a table. Landon's crib (which he won't even sleep in) is occupying our dining room. But hey, I am trying my best to be the greatest housewife/homemaker/mom ever, so the last few nights, I have taken it upon myself to actually make dinner for my ever-so hardworking husband.

So, the first night I decided to start simple. Garlic Chicken as the main entree with a side of rice, and a side of corn. Well, I only had to ask Anthony about 12 times to help me know what to do with the rice cooker, and to tell me if he thought the chicken looked "ready". Dinner was not so bad. Husband ate it. Mission accomplished.

Quick input: If you know me, you know I am married to the pickiest eater in the world. I have begun to realize my husband is more than picky. He has a food phobia. It's very serious. I can list more of what he will eat that what he won't because the list is very short.

• some vegetables
  
• red meat


• chicken


• french fries


• noodles/rice/bread
  

There's the list. And people wonder why I don't cook. What is the point of cooking if you are the only person that's going to eat?!

Anyway, on to my second night. I feel like I was basically in the kitchen all day for this one. I made some cornbread from the Jiffy box. They were on sale for 43 cents the other day, so we'll probably be having cornbread for awhile. The main entree was soup. I don't really know what kind of soup, but I can tell you how I made it. I put the following in the crockpot and let it sit on high for basically the whole day.

• 2 chopped potatoes


• chopped carrots


• chopped grilled chicken


• can of corn


• can of green beans


• 4 cans of chicken broth


• 2 cups of rice


• garlic salt
  

I thought it was good. Samantha said it was good. And now for the moment I had been waiting for all day. Anthony comes home. I kindly ask would he like some dinner. He kindly asks me to bring him a bowl. I proudly fill it up and happily bring it to him. He hesitantly asks what's in it. I explain. He takes one bite. One bite. That's all. One bite. He's done. One bite. That's it. One bite. I don't talk to him for the rest of the night.

Okay, okay, so after waking up this morning, I realize I maybe overreacted by ignoring him as he profusely apologized, and told me it's the thought that counts. He applauded my cookies and even took seven of them to work with him today, but still...it was the soup I labored with love over and may I emphasize labor. Moving on. Maybe we will live on take-out for the rest of our lives.