(Un)Domestic Goddess.

Whether the husband wants to admit it or not, I think one of his greatest fears for our married life was dinner. Yes, dinner. All through our dating life (and as you may remember, it was a looong life), I never cooked. Ever. I mean, maybe I made ramen noodles in the cup. Or maybe some Kraft dinner (macaroni and cheese, for you non-Canadians). (Not that I'm Canadian, but I am an honorary Newfie so that kind of counts.) This isn't to say I didn't know how to use the oven or the stove or the all-mighty microwave. My sister taught me how to bake and I try my darndest to keep up with her Betty Crocker-ness. (Match it? Not even close. Although I can make a mean chocolate chip cookie from scratch when I want to.) But when it comes to an actual meal, complete with an entree and (look out!) even a side? The husband prayed for his future mealtimes.

Growing up, my mom made dinner for our family almost every night. We had dinner together more often than not and I look back on those times and am so thankful. It gave us a chance to spend time together, whether we wanted to or not. (Forced family time is best family time, amiright?) We could share stories about our day before we went our separate ways to do homework, watch television, or just sequester ourselves in our room and be moody kids. (Not that I ever did that...) It gave my big brother a chance to make me snort milk out of my nose from laughing too hard. It gave my dad a chance to tell one of his million stories and we couldn't go anywhere because we were too hungry to leave. (Tell us again about Jigs and Fuzzy, dad!) Now here's the kicker- my mom didn't (and still doesn't) like to cook. It wasn't fun for her and she didn't pour over recipes and make extravagant meals every night. She did it because she cared about her family and wanted us to have good, healthy meals made by the woman who will always love us best. (And to this day, she still cooks for my dad most nights, except when she can convince him to take her to a restaurant. Which, to be honest, is a little more often than it used to be...)

So on this, I can totally relate. I don't like to cook. It's not a passion for me like it is for other people. Even the husband loves to cook and can make delicious meals when he has the time to do it. I don't read cookbooks. I don't go down every aisle in the grocery store and think about what next great meal I can make. I don't even write a weekly menu before I go to the grocery store. (As much as the husband tells me I should.) I just buy what looks good and make up a menu as I go along. The husband works long days (Seriously, Marine Corps. He was deployed for  a YEAR. Do you still need him for thirteen hours every day? Really? *ahem*) so it's up to me to make sure he has something good to eat when he gets home. It may not always be wonderful, but it's always decent (and edible). (That's still something to be proud of, right? Just because he can eat anything and was in a warzone three different times and probably ate some disgusting things, I'm pretty sure I can still cook better than that.) I love to eat out and there are definitely weeks when my homecooking happens way less than it should, but I'm still doing it. We have dinner at the table just like my family used to do. It's a chance to talk about our day and just be together before the television and laptops consume us. It's a tradition I'm happy to make ours.

...And I think the husband can finally stop worrying that our children will only ever eat chips and salsa for dinner. (They still might, but at least now I can make chicken enchiladas as the main course!)

Tonight's meal: Crockpot lasagna, 

made in the fancy pressure cooker. 

Fingers crossed it's actually pressuring and cooker-ing.  

So long, SoCal!

We have BIG NEWS in this family and it's time to finally share it with everyone. No, it's not THAT. (Thank you for asking, though, and I'm sure you mean it lovingly, but I'll let you know when it is THAT. 'cause it's not right now. So you can stop asking. But thank you anyway.) Well, maybe it is kind of THAT. We do have a new member of our household. She's so sweet. You should meet her. (Really? Right now? Okay, I'm sure I have a few photos of her...somewhere...)

Penny Pendleton, rescued from the same 
USMC animal shelter as Mateo.
Once a Marine kitty, always a Marine kitty.

 Who could say "no" to this face?
(Obviously not us.)

Mateo is not impressed.

Adorable kitties are adorably distracting. Sorry about that. (Back to the BIG NEWS.) Remember in my last blog post when I said we weren't going where we thought we would be going? And remember how I said you can never count on anything in the Marine Corps, except to count on it changing? Right. It changed. My adorable Marine (the adorableness quotient in this household is off the charts) has been accepted into the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey, California. That's right, my dear readers. The McBrides are MOVING! (These McBrides, the two of us. The rest of the McBrides are probably staying put in their respective cities.) This is what the husband really wanted to do and he is looking forward to being a student again. If all goes well (and you know it will), he'll finish with a Master's degree in Computer Science. (I, on the other hand, will probably need to resurrect my trusty red pen and brush up on my editing skills. I see a lot of late night "grading" in my future...) For those of you unfamiliar with California geography (and let's be honest, my geography skills are pretty much nil), Monterey is in Northern California (Helloooo, NorCal!), right on the coast and about an hour south of San Francisco. We report for duty in July so I have about five months to get in my fill of Disneyland, palm trees, and celebrity sightings. I am less than thrilled to be leaving my bookstore and the awesome friends I've made here, but such is the life of a Marine Wife. No longer a single one, pining for her deployed husband, but an attached one, following aforementioned husband to parts unknown. 

...and that's where the fun begins.

 It's been swell, SoCal.

More swell than I could ever imagine.