What I Do For Love

How do I love my family? Let me count the ways.

1- I make sure to take the silvery seal off the top of the new squeeze ketchup bottle so they don't spend hours squeezing it, fruitlessly, perplexed.

2- I tell them, "That just came out of the oven, " in hopes of warning them that something is hot. Even though one of them just took the tray of french fries out of the oven, set it on the cutting block, popped one in his mouth, and screamed, "IT'S HOT!"

3- I make a quesadilla that is firm enough, and non-slippery-enough, to hold and eat. As opposed to one that is limp and wet and must be eaten with a fork because that internet recipe said you must put oil in the pan, so he poured some in the non-stick skillet, and on the kitchen counter for good measure, and see...that quesadilla didn't stick. And it was really good. But I can make them the next time, too, because it's less work for him.

4- I try to throw away the baloney with only two little green spots on it, just in case one of them might try to make a sandwich before school, and call me, and say, "It only has two little green spots on it. Is it OK to eat?"

5- I remove the entire ice-catching tray and hack the insides with a knife until cubes can flow freely out the door spout, thus keeping my family from standing in front of the open freezer and pounding on the ice-catching tray in an effort to bully it into coughing up a cube.

That's just a partial list. And that's only the kitchen.