Hi everyone. My name is Becca and I am spoiled.

I know that I am spoiled.  

In a lot of ways I am spoiled through the natural set up of my life… American, access to health care, loving parents, blah blah blah.  But today I want to discuss how I am spoiled by my chef.  And by chef, I mean Otha.  

Otha and I had countless conversations on the phone at the beginning of our relationship getting to know one another.  Basic things you know.  What’s your favorite book?  Tell me about your family.  Why did you choose to study ___ in college?  But I will not forget when the subject of cooking entered into our dialogue.  I was in my room putting clothes away (an endless task in my life) enjoying the back and forth easy flow of conversation when Otha mentioned that he cooks often.  But not only does he cook often as a college male, he REALLY ENJOYS it.  It’s a way for him to serve.  A way for him to relax.  An outlet for his creativity.  Giddy does not do justice what I felt at that moment.  If I did not literally jump in the air, my emotions were definitely doing flips with glee.  I remember getting off the phone and repeating to myself: “he loves to cook!!!” like a crazy person who just found an imaginary $100 bill.  

Flashbacks came from when I joked with my parents about how I needed to find a man who can cook- crucial in order for me to have any hope of a non-college-diet life.  The staples of my daily meals consisted of yogurt with granola, peanut butter, and tortillas with cheese & salsa.  Every day. Whenever one of my roommates would purchase salsa, I knew it was simply a thoughtful blessing to my stomach and not much of a contribution to their meals.  It was understood that I was the queen of salsa consumption.   And trust me, I was satisfied with what I ate.  However there was always a little voice reminding me that I cannot eat this way forever:  “Good wives don’t give their husbands a spoonful of peanut butter for dinner”  “Moms who care will buy more than tortillas for their children’s daily lunch”.  I wanted to punch that voice in the face.  

Why didn’t I just learn to cook?  Let me tell you.  I did.  My sweet mom tried teaching me over and over.  I even asked for a cook book as a young child and trying all the simple recipes- a passion was brewing.  Whether due to apathy or busyness, my season of cooking came to an end.  Then every attempt in college to rekindle the passion was fruitless… in fact it was horrible.  Recipes stressed me out because I would have to invest in crazy ingredients.  I would leave out a cup of something and the whole dish would be ruined.  If I successfully prepared a dish, the oven would fight back with an evil vengeance and spit out a burned entrée.  STRESSFUL.  

So I married Otha.  Obviously I married Otha for an infinite number of more important reasons than his ability to cook.  But I am not going to pretend that I do not love the fact that Otha has incredible culinary skills.  If he hated cooking and was worse than me at it, I would still marry him.  In fact, I was concerned that his passion for cooking would clash with my minimal desire to buy anything unnecessary at the grocery story.  But the fact is- he is talented at cooking and I am not.  Since being married, Otha has done the majority of cooking dinner and I gladly clean the dishes afterwards.  Even if I decide what we are going to have for dinner, Otha will instinctively begin getting things out to create a masterpiece.  On ambitious days I will ask Otha how he prepared the meal in hopes that I can recreate it one day.  But the more he explains, the more confused I become.  

For a week Otha did an all liquid fast, as in he is only consumed liquids.  Trying to be a supportive wife, I was really excited for him to take this journey… until I began to realize that I needed to make dinner for seven day. SEVEN DAYS.  The first night, I made a tortilla with cheese and spinach on it and called it dinner.  But it’s different being pregnant.  I can’t just eat whatever I want knowing it will only affect me.  Our son’s growth is influenced by what nutrients I put into my body throughout each day.  Dang it.  Thus, Sunday I had a little melt down looking through recipe books, websites, anything to help.  After a pep talk from Otha, I finally decided to pick out 2 very simple meals and I will just eat the left-overs throughout the week.   I know this does not provide much variety in my dinners, but it gives me sanity.  Less stress  >  food variety.  

Needless to say, my gratitude for Otha’s contribution to our family in the kitchen has grown even more.  He makes nutritious delicious meals on a consistent basis and never gives me a hard time for being a horrible cook.  In the middle of his fast, I was driving home from work around 7pm.  I had great intentions of making that second meal  when I got home since my left-overs from the first meal were depleted.  Then it hit me- I forgot to take the meat out of the freezer that morning to defrost .  I am pregnant.  And so hungry.  Ugh.  But when I walked in the door, there was a hot, home-made chicken quesadilla waiting for me.  Otha Graham had done it again.  He figured I was going to be very hungry when I got home and saw that my dinner supply in the fridge was gone.  So he took initiative to love his wife by making dinner… even when he can’t partake in the delicious meal.  Seriously I have an amazing husband!!

Change will occur though when Asher is born and I have no excuse not to cook while Otha is at work.  “Alright Otha, you go work hard all day, make money, and then come home and labor in the kitchen.  Thanks.”  I know I need to practice preparing awesome meals.  I know that I need to start thinking about things like defrosting meat when I wake up in the mornings.  I know that I need to channel creativity into the kitchen.  But for now, I am soaking in the blessing of having an incredible chef of a husband.  Spoiled, you ask?  Absolutely.