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A pie. That’s right…my husband baked an apple pie from scratch. For those of you who don’t know my husband, he is definitely the zig to my zag, the yin to my yang, the type “B” personality to my type “A” personality. He’s the introvert, the calm introspective one and the person that I have to ask seven times to take out the garbage.
So when my good friend brought over a bag of fresh apples she had picked with her family in the quaint town of Julian over the weekend, I was very grateful but realistically thought that they would likely rot on my counter over the next few weeks. I had the passing thought that making applesauce might be a fun activity to do with the kids. I got as far as to open up the cookbook (a feat in and of itself) to the page with the recipe. So yesterday when I was at the grocery store (another feat in and of itself) and my husband called and said, “Can you pick up some brown sugar and nutmeg while you are at the store. I’m going to bake an apple pie.”
I about passed out in the aisle. Since I was in shock, I did as I was asked and diligently came home with the ingredients.
When I walked in the door after work, I was welcomed by the amazing aroma of apple pie coming from the oven. As I sliced into the pie after dinner as my kids waited eagerly, I found myself secretly hoping that it would be average at best. I mean, really, in the 11 years I have known him, he has never baked at all, let alone a pie, so it really wouldn’t be fair if it was good.
In fact it wasn’t good…it was amazing!
In pondering what I’ve learned from this experience I realized: 1) If I leave things undone for long enough they may actually get done. 2) If there is apple pie in my house, I will eat it. Better sign up for an extra spin class this week. 3) Maybe I’ll let my husband off the hook next time he forgets to take out the garbage!
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