I hate having a messy home but a bench full of dishes, food on the floor and chairs scattered everywhere is a great problem to have when 12 of your greatest friends joined you for a barbecue at yours.
We were given a barbecue from an old neighbour and fellow youth pastor a few years ago. It lacked a gas bottle so it sat amongst the elements and spiders for a year. You see, we have never been the barbecue-y types. Mr Moo doesn't enter the kitchen and isn't the hunter gather type. He would much rather dial for a pizza (I guess thats still gathering?). I never thought about the ol' outside grill. I just figured it wasn't his cup of tea. This year we were given a gas bottle and had it filled in prep for our birth.
It turns out, barbecueing is in the blood. In the genetics. Fire. Primal instincts. Whatever. We have had 4 grill ups in the last 2 weeks. We are unstoppable. The best part? I'm not cooking. Sure, I don't get off scott free. I still prepare the food, do the dishes and all that jazz. But its really lovely to sit back and gaze at my handsome man with an oversized slice spatula thing in his grasp.
Tonight he almost served us raw chicken. We have a lot to learn about the grill but it feels nice to be entering another realm of adulthood. Many, many fond childhood memories were made around a barbecue. Its nice to be doing the same.
Oh, and we filled up the birth pool too and had a paddle. It was stinking hot here underneath the ozone hole. I never ended up giving birth in it - can I still call it a birth pool? Or is it just a pool now?
[Thank you to all those who have taken up the call to look after the Sisterhood. You are all wonderful and I feel infinitely blessed. This is what blogging is about]
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