McCarthy - Life laughs: the naked truth about motherhood, marriage, and moving on

S ometimes I wish it was still caveman days when the men hunted for food and we stayed by the fire combing out our legs and armpits waiting for a dead carcass to arrive. Most girls grow up and easily slide into the domestic duties of the home. I never slid in. I kicked and screamed and was eventually thrown in by my hair.

I remember staring at the stove after I became married wondering what the hell I was going to do. The only thing I had ever used it for was to light my cigarettes. Now I was supposed to actually mix things together and create a meal. That was funny.

Walking into grocery stores I would always head for the frozen food section. This is when I was only responsible for myself. I would grab fifteen Lean Cuisines and call it a weeks supply. After I got married, the grocery store looked like Harvard University. I couldnt understand anything. I would stand in the produce section not knowing what half the names were for the vegetables in the bins, let alone how to cook them. I continued to push my cart and stopped at the meat counter. Packages of raw meat would stare at me, and I would pick some up looking for how to cook them and there never were any directions. My mom finally gave me a few recipes for stews and such, but half the time I was too tired from work and up with the baby to try to prepare a feast when I didnt even know how to open the package.

Once you start to cook at home, figuring out what to make for dinner that night can be just as hard as figuring out which candidate to vote for. I go crazy every night!! Ill call my mom and ask her what she made or call my sisters to see what they made. Even if cooking is totally your thing, I guarantee that wondering what to make is a daily dilemma in your life. If you have kids who are picky eaters, then God help you. In my house I would feed my son really healthy steamed foods, and when he went to sleep, I would gorge on pizza or cheeseburgers.

One time I tried to make John a really beautiful meal, but it didnt go too well. I saw a big pork thingy at the store. I think it was a pigs shoulder or something, and I decided to take it home and make BBQ pork sandwiches with it. My mom had gotten me a slow cooker for Christmas thinking it would be easy cooking for me. So I decided to let this pig shoulder thingy be my first try. I threw it in there, put a little salt, a little pepper, and even an onion in it. Wow, now thats some fancy cookin! I put the lid on and saw that the button had two choices: slow and fast. I remember thinking, Why would anyone want to cook something slow? So I put it on fast and went on my way.

A couple of hours later I came to check on it and it looked awesome. Juice dripping, onions brownedI never thought a pigs shoulder would look so attractive as it did in my pot. So I looked at the clock and saw that it had been at least two hours and figured since I had it on FAST it was probably done. Besides, overcooked pork is not a fun chewing experience, so I threw some barbecue sauce on it, ripped off some chunks, and put it in a hamburger bun with a side of potato salad. I walked over to John and showed him my proud creation of a real meal. His eyes bugged out in delight and he happily devoured the sandwich, saying it was the best sandwich he had ever had. I couldnt even take a bite because I was doing some stupid cleanse at the time, so I had to live vicariously through his bites.

After he was done I threw his plate in the dishwasher and smiled in delight at my domestic victory. About an hour later I heard this awful noise coming out of the bathroom. It sounded like an elephant was being eaten by coyotes. These horrid screams and echoes of cries coming out of a porcelain bowl made me quiver. I honestly thought Godzilla had taken over my bathroom. After about fifteen minutes of screams and moans the door finally opened, and standing there was a pale sweaty skeleton of a man. I said, Oh no, honey, youve got the flu. He replied with a whisper, Its not the flu, its your f*cking pig shoulder.

All I could think of was that he was delirious, because my pork sandwich had looked award-winning. Before I could even respond, he turned around and became friends again with the two-foot porcelain bowl.

I ran into the other room and called my mom. I told her of my proud cooking but that John had gotten sick. She began to ask me what I had set the timer on. I told her on fast for two hours. She started screaming in horror, telling me that fast still means at least eight to nine hours for a big pig shoulder and slow would be about twelve to fourteen. I thought that was ridiculous. Who the hell would cook for twelve hours?

Anyway, it turns out John had severe food poisoning because pork needs to be cooked thoroughly. Who knew? They dont teach you that in school! So the next time you get perplexed about what to make for dinner, call some friends and see what theyre making. If youre too lazy, go have your husband run out and grab some takeout. If he bitches and moans, just smile and tell him you have a delicious recipe for barbecue pork sandwiches!

I used to love playing with Mr. Potato Head when I was a little girl. There was just something so cute about him and empowering about having the ability to control what I wanted him to be that day. Sorry, Mr. Potato Head, Im not allowing you to have your mustache today. You have to EARN it! Yes, even at nine years old I wanted to control my man. It wasnt until years later when I married my own Mr. Potato Head that I realized they dont come with all the parts.