Grumpy Face

I’m whisking sour cream into a humongous pot of cheese sauce as fast as I can when I hear the front door open. 

A loud falsetto voice calls out, “LooOOOOOOwwwww!” 

A rampaging herd of dogs careen around the corner from the basement doorway and down the hallway. Yes, both of them. Nails scratching at tile flooring, tails and bottoms wagging violently, yips and whines echoing throughout the entryway, vigorous canine leaping and bounding to and fro. 

The Hubster is home! 

“I’m in the kitchen,” I call out as I lean back from the cooktop to look straight out the doorway and down the hall to meet Steve’s gaze. Yes, I am now looking him straight in the eye. 

“Where are you?” angrily erupts from his mouth. His face is beginning to contort. 

“Right here, Sweetie! How was your day?” I reapplied myself to my task of mac n cheese for fifty. Except that it was truly four cheese pasta, as I use penne noodles. My turn to help feed Kidlet’s football team on pre-game eve. The players and coaches eat a lot. We moms cook a lot. Tonight’s menu is mac n cheese, pulled pork sandwiches, Caesar salad, deviled eggs, cookies and brownies. Just enough to keep those players full until they get home to eat dinner. I am making just half the required mac n cheese. There are nine others covering the rest. 

The Hubster’s face is beginning to look thunderous. A storm could be brewing. Just what I needed. Not. 

“You said you needed help!” roars my illustrious spouse. “WHY AREN’T YOU READY?” 

I close my eyes and sigh, then take a deep, calming breath. 

I inform him that I don't need to be there for another half hour, then ask, “What are your plans, Sweetie?” 

“I WAS GOING TO WORK ON THE JEEP!” is the rumbling reply, definite warning of the probable intensity of the impending storm. 

“You don’t need to help me if you are too busy,” I respond. “I just wondered if you were available to go to the high school with me to carry these huge pots.” My voice trails off as Grumpy Face approaches me. His stomping feet are rattling the dishes in the cupboard. “And you don’t need to shout at me. I am right here,” I add. 

Kisses and an ‘I’m so glad to see you’ no longer seemed appropriate. 

As his lunchbox slams onto the counter, violently dispelling contents, Hubby begins to grumble under his breath. 

I try again. “You really don’t need to help if you already have plans, Dear. Why are you so grumpy?” 

Startled, Steve turns to face me. “Am I acting grumpy?” he asked in amazement. 

“Ummm, yes,” I respond. 

“Oh.” He stands still as puzzlement creeps across his face. “I didn’t realize that.” 

Huh. 

Steve stands quietly for several minutes. Gears are turning. 

“If you can help me, why don’t you just drive yourself to the school so you can go home after carrying in the mac n cheese?” I query. “We will have plenty of people to help serve.” 

Visibly relieved, Steve agrees to this arrangement. His entire body relaxes, his face reverts to his normal expressionless mode, and he turns back to the dogs. 

I contemplate the Jekyll and Hyde story. Not so far fetched, thinketh I. 

lol