I was a big baby. A big whiny baby all day long. The thing is as the "thing" cooked it looked and smelled more and more like a beef roast. I had actually planned to take Lil'Bug to the Science Center that day, so I wasn't really escaping. Not really. I did clean the kitchen, really well at that. I talked with my aunt in TX who assured me that it was actually tasty and I needed to stop be such a snot about the whole thing.
So I was ready to try it. Sort of.
But Dearest didn't know that and he came home he was frustrated at me. He grumped a lot, discovered that we were out of tortillias, and finally plopped the tongue out onto the block to be cubed and sauteed.
I ran from the room. Um, poopy diaper to change.
When diner hit the table, Lil'Bug was confused that these "tacos" didn't have cheese. She wanted cheese. Also, she likes to build her own. Things were not right and she got ancy. Blueberry started insisting on being fed, NOW, and because of the lingering latch issue feeding her takes two hands. Dearest was frustrated. He took a bite of the food. Apparently, it was not good.
And that was that. I never even had a chance to take a bite. Dinner was cleared from the table. Feeling were hurt, tot was climbing things in another room, bellies were still hungry. We headed out of the house to diffuse the anxiety and buy art supplies.
I still feel bad, because I intended to be supportive and a good sport, especially after I worked up to it all day.