I started in the evening and about halfway through, I realized this was going to be a rather lengthy endeavor. The kids were getting restless and cranky and were pulling on my legs as I rolled out the dough. My husband and I got them to bed and I returned to the kitchen to finish the rolls. I can't pintpoint exactly the moment of epic failure, but between too much butter, a misread extract, and not enough dough, I found myself up to my armpits in what I thought was perhaps an unsalvageable mess. But, I forced through and my determination resulted in three pans of cinnamon rolls. Fresh out of the oven, they tasted pretty good. At least, I thought so.
My husband tried one and nodded and said it was okay.
My hours of slaving for a nod of the head and a "it's okay".
I'm not sure what snapped in my head, perhaps a feeling of underappreciation mixed with exhaustion (and, let's not forget, pregnancy hormones), but I gave him a glare and with much dramatic huffing and flailing of arms, I stormed to the bedroom and shut the door.
A few moments later he cracked it open and asked if I was okay.
And then the crying started.
The ugly crying. The heaving. I can't remember the following conversation verbatim, but here's the basic gist of it:
"YOU DON'T LIKE MY CINNAMON ROLLS!"
"I didn't say that!"
"I KNOW YOU DIDN'T LIKE THEM! I MESSED THEM UP!"
(Snort, snort, sniffle.)
"It's fine! They weren't bad!"
"'WEREN'T BAD'?? THAT MEANS YOU HATED THEM!"
"KATIE. The cinnamon rolls are fine! I appreciate you making them!"
"THE KITCHEN IS A MESS AND IT'S LATE AND I DON'T WANT TO CLEAN IT!"
"Uh, okay. Don't clean it then!"
"I'M GONNA HAVE THREE KIDS!!"
"WE'RE GONNA HAVE THREE KIDS!! HOW IN THE WORLD CAN I HANDLE THREE KIDS?!"
"I thought we were talking about cinnamon rolls."
"I DON'T THINK I CAN DO IT! I DON'T THINK I CAN BE A GOOD MOM TO THREE LITTLE KIDS!"
"I DRIVE A MINIVAN!!"
"I'M GOING TO HAVE THREE KIDS AND I DRIVE A MINIVAN! WHO AM I?! I CAN'T EVEN MAKE CINNAMON ROLLS!!"
"Oh geez. Okay. Katie, I think you're overthinking this ..."
"I HAVE TO CHANGE DIAPERS AND TEACH OUR KIDS TO WALK AND TALK AND THEN I HAVE TO KEEP THE HOUSE CLEAN AND COOK AND BAKE AND KEEP THE LAUNDRY UP AND (snort, snort, sob) ..."
"Calm down. You do a great job."
"AND MY JOB DESCRIPTION IS JUST 'STAY-AT-HOME'!" ARE YOU KIDDING?? WHAT BOZO COINED THAT TERM?!"
"Katie, go to bed."
"I'M JUST ... I'm just ... (sob, sob)"
"It's not about the cinnamon rolls."
"It is a little."
"Go to bed."
"Go to bed."
And I did.
Have a lovely day.