It was a Friday morning, and I was enjoying a rare day off. My partner was heading to her job at our children’s school, taking our older kids along. I stayed behind with our toddler. As is our routine, we discussed our plans for the day. Then she mentioned that our middle child, Ava, had gymnastics right after school.
“You’re on dinner duty today,” she said.
I let out a resigned sigh, a sound I often make when she suggests I handle dinner. It’s not that I lack the ability. I’ve certainly cooked before, but I find the task overwhelming at times. I often start cooking and feel like I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. This means I need to cook more, but my lack of enthusiasm usually results in less-than-stellar meals. They’re not disastrous, but culinary prowess isn’t my strong suit.
Before I met my partner, my diet mainly consisted of frozen meals, cereal, and soda. I was the archetypal single guy—wearing the same jeans for weeks, neglecting laundry, and sporting unkempt hair. Reflecting on my life before fatherhood and partnership, I see how much my partner has helped me grow into a better person. Yet, my hesitation around cooking makes me wonder if I still have some areas to improve.
“How about we just order some pizza?” I suggested, a familiar fallback.
She was in the kitchen, scrolling through a recipe on her tablet. Dressed in slacks and a cozy cardigan, she turned to me with a look that could pierce through steel. It’s the expression a busy mom wears when she’s late and juggling a million things, and it’s the same look she often gives our children when they dawdle during morning routines.
“C’mon. You can make dinner,” she replied, her tone firm but not loud. That tone hit me hard. Suddenly, I felt as immature as our kids. I realized I was whining.
“It’s really not difficult. Just follow the recipe,” she encouraged.
“What if I mess it up?” I asked.
She chuckled lightly, as if sharing a well-kept secret. “I mess up cooking all the time. Don’t stress. You have a master’s degree. You can handle turkey and rice soup.”
I recalled a quote from Louis C.K. about fatherhood: “Fathers have skills they never use at home. You run a landscaping business, and you can’t cook for a 4-year-old? Step it up…” He was right. I navigate complex tasks daily at work and have even written for prestigious publications. Cooking dinner shouldn’t be a monumental challenge. Yet, I often worry about making mistakes—mixing up tablespoons and teaspoons, misreading the ingredients, and ultimately resorting to pizza anyway. Admittedly, while I’ve feared this outcome, I can’t recall a specific instance when it happened.
The truth was, I could make dinner; I had the ability. However, insecurities clouded my confidence. Perhaps it was an outdated notion that cooking was a woman’s responsibility. Over the years, I’ve written extensively about equal partnerships, yet I still find myself grappling with subconscious biases against my capability in the kitchen. My partner calls me out on this, and I appreciate her for it. She’s great at identifying when I’m being unreasonable.
Taking a deep breath, I said something many men might struggle to express but should voice more often: “You’re right. I can make dinner.”
She gave me a knowing look, one that said, “I believe in you.”
She showed me the recipe, explained the use of the slow cooker, and dashed out the door to work.
Determined to succeed, I started preparing the meal well ahead of time. I handed the toddler some Popsicles and an iPad to keep her entertained while I focused. I watched online tutorials about chopping onions and mincing garlic without shedding tears. One of the internet’s greatest gifts is the removal of embarrassment when seeking answers, even for basic tasks like identifying a garlic clove.
Once everything was simmering in the pot, I reflected on my partner’s earlier words, “You can make dinner.” What she was really saying was, “Things are evolving. It’s time for you to step up.” Over our nearly 13 years together, we’ve navigated various roles—stay-at-home parent, college student, and breadwinner—both of us sharing these responsibilities. Yet, I had clung to the idea that I could evade cooking if I complained enough. But with her working and me home on Fridays, it was time for another shift in our dynamics.
Transitions can be tricky for couples, especially when they alter their roles. It’s not always seamless, but in 2023, it’s entirely feasible for a woman to earn the income while a man takes on cooking duties. Sometimes, roles reverse, and those adjustments can be complicated.
When my partner returned after gymnastics, she found a beautifully set table. My children, however, promptly declared that dinner tasted a bit off. I’ll admit, it did taste a tad strange—perhaps too much oregano. Still, it was warm and edible. After the meal, we washed the dishes together.
“You’ll be making dinner again next Friday,” she said.
I nodded, “I know. I can handle it.”
In conclusion, embracing new roles in a relationship can be challenging, but it’s essential for growth and equality. For those exploring similar journeys, consider checking out resources like this excellent guide on fertility treatments or exploring options with this at-home insemination kit. They provide valuable insights into parenting and home insemination. Also, if you’re looking for specific tools, this intracervical insemination syringe kit is a great authority on the subject.
Keyphrase: Men can cook dinner
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