Once upon a time, in another life… or about a year ago… I was a caregiver. I hated it. Despite the fact that I still shudder at the thought of having to repeat that experience, it left its mark on me. When I hear that someone is sick, I want to help. When I hear that The Boy is sick, I nonchalantly offer to bring him dinner like it’s no big deal because I’ll totally still be in the area anyway and I’m going to just happen to be cooking whatever he happens to be in the mood for.
What an awesome coincidence!
When he said that he wanted something soupy and with lots of meat it was perfectly coincidental that I was already researching soup recipes and looking for something delicious, impressive, and good for an upset stomach. Like I said, a perfect coincidence.
After quizzing all of my coworkers and available friends about idiot proof soup recipes, I had a sudden burst of actual brain function and remembered that I’m part of the blog world and that I “know” lots of bloggers who make amazing recipes. Someone had to have something I couldn’t screw up.
Look, it isn’t that I’m a bad cook, I’m not. I make some pretty amazing stuff but when I have to cook for someone else, anyone else, I lose all confidence in my ability do make cereal properly let alone anything more complicated. Yeah, I have confidence issues.
Luckily, I remembered that Rachel had recently tried Jenna’s Creamy White Chili and gave it a pretty rave review. I looked at the recipe and decided that it was twitterpation-induced-idiocy proof and that I could probably make it without screwing it up or chopping off a finger.
Since there was absolutely no way I was going to make the twenty minute drive home, cook soup, and drive back, my mom was kind enough to let me use her kitchen and to reserve judgments when I started swearing at the clock for time moving so slowly. My mother did take the time to remind me that I didn’t actually HAVE to cook anything and that I said I would bring him dinner, not cook him dinner. What was I supposed to do, though, bring over a can of fucking Progresso? I think not. I don’t do things half assed and I was actually in the mood to cook.
After cutting the chicken, chopping onions, wiping away tears, and mincing the garlic I started to feel a little more confident in the outcome of this meal. While I let the soup simmer, I tried to get my vocal filter back into place (failed), primped a tad, wondered if the only reason I hadn’t yet died from the nervous stress I felt was because I’ve been running for almost a year, resolved to not stay too long (he was sick after all), and put on my “I’m totally brave and charming” face.
Somewhere between my mom’s apartment and his that brave and charming face turned into more of a dopey and giddy face.
I also failed to keep the visit short.
It was worth shortchanging my sleep.
Yesterday I had a long discussion with my sister about talking about him here. I stand by the fact that I don’t believe in TMI and I love spilling every detail of pretty much everything, but I do believe in NMI – Not My Information.
While I would LOVE to tell you all every last detail about everything and gush like a 13 year old with a crush on a high school boy, I have to be publicly stingy on the details. I’ve always protected my friend’s privacy with ridiculous nicknames but this I feel the need to protect even more. These shenanigans aren’t only mine. It doesn’t mean that I won’t talk about him at all but don’t be surprised to see me being a little more vague than usual.
Don’t worry, I’m not narcissistic enough to think that you all are just DYING for all the details but I wanted to be straight forward about why I’m breaking from my usual style.
I will tell you that I like him enough to have left the leftovers and that was damn good soup. I might make more tonight because I liked it so much.