Birthday Bacon

Who knew love could be so much work? Phew!

Yes, I’m talking about Brandon’s birthday yesterday. I tried—and I mean I really tried—to make his day special. You know, the whole birthday gig. Leaving love notes around the house, surprise visit at church, random phone calls throughout the day, breakfast in bed. But it was hard. Really hard. Especially since I’ve never made bacon before and I had to figure it out in the wee morning hours before work. Not good. Not good at all.

I’m the type who reads the recipe 4 times before I even start and then 2,956 times while I am cooking. I check and recheck. Measure and remeasure. Did you know bacon doesn’t come with instructions? Yea. That doesn’t seem right to me either.

I’m also the type to ask a 632 questions during the process. What pan do you use to cook the bacon? Do you have to grease the pan first? Do you cut your bacon in half so it fits better? Do you trim off the fat? What temperature? Medium-ish? Is the oil supposed to collect like that? How long do you cook it on each side? How brown is brown enough? Could you get sick from this if I don’t cook it right? Do you put salt on it? Is this too crispy? Will you come check?

I am not a bacon eater.

I was so preoccupied with the bacon I forgot I was cooking the eggs at the same time. And yes, they burned. But being the impatient—but practical—non-morning person I am, I didn’t start over. I just plopped it on the plate with the overly crispy bacon and whipped upstairs to bring my dear husband his breakfast in bed. But you should know, I made a seriously great piece of toast to go with it.

He smiled and praised my efforts and choked it down anyway. Because he likes me.

And you know what? I actually liked making breakfast for him. Okay, okay. Settle down. Don’t get too excited. I’m just saying it was nice, not that I want to do it every morning. But I guess I just realized the value going to all that work to bless the person I love. It was satisfying to actually be the one serving instead of being served. Brandon does this kind of thing all the time, and I’ve never understood why he loves doing it so much. There is a certain something you feel when you’re sacrificing your time and efforts for someone else. So I think my heart grew yesterday morning as I stood there chopping the peppers for his omelet. I felt how he feels. Content to be doing something nice for that had nothing to do with me.

Um, you should know, it didn’t stop me from complaining just a little bit about making him a quesadilla when we got home late from church last night. I said I understood it. Not that I want to do it all the time. But I think he had a good day all the same. We’re going to celebrate again tomorrow when we both have a little less work to worry about. I’ll get a second chance to be a little less whiny and a little more sacrificey.

Forgive me. I try.