"Oatmeal is good for you. You should eat oatmeal every morning."
My naturapath's pronouncement was hardly revelatory; it only confirmed everything I'd read and heard this past year since I was diagnosed with diabetes. So later that evening my husband stayed up late and cooked oatmeal (not the quick-cooking type, which apparently has little or no dietary benefits but the old-fashioned steel-cut oatmeal that comes in a tin). He boiled water, poured the oats, realized he didn't have enough, drove to the grocery and bought another tin, poured some more into the pot, which he then covered and left overnight.
The next morning, while I was still asleep (after staying awake hacking away all night and keeping him from getting any rest as well), my husband went downstairs to the kitchen and put the pot on the fire for another ten minutes or so. And because he knows me, he put a bit of Hershey's cocoa (sugar-free) and mixed it in.
Because he wanted to make sure I started my day right, he started his wrong by being late for his Friday morning meeting. My husband hates being late for anything.
At about 10 in the morning, he rang while I was already up and at my computer working (no real sick or vacation days for me as far as my job is concerned) to tell me there was champorado ready to eat (he will say whatever to make me do what's good for me, including calling chocolatey oatmeal by the name of my favorite childhood breakfast food) and that all I had to do was add a bit of milk and Splenda and nuke it in the microwave for a minute.
I thanked him profusely, hung up the phone, and kept working. At half past noon, after realizing that I already should have had a small meal and a snack but hadn't eaten a bite (not a good thing, as all diabetics know -- or should), I decided I wanted lunch. Somehow the chocolate-flavored oatmeal seemed like something I should have had about two hours earlier and not now, so I heated up some leftover roast chicken instead and brought it upstairs to the office, where I continued to work.
When my husband came home that night, he found me in bed taking a nap. "So did you eat the champorado, honey?" he asked.
I thought about his staying up late the night before, of his running to the grocery, and being late to work today. Somehow telling him that all his efforts were for naught didn't seem a good idea. "Oh yeah, but just a little. It was really good!" I said. I felt the fires of Hell licking at my feet.
This morning, as I woke up and was trying to gather my wits about me (I'm an exasperatingly slow waker), he was already downstairs having oatmeal for breakfast and watching the Golf Channel. "Honey!" he yelled when he heard me shuffling around. As I came down the stairs I saw him looking a bit cross.
"How could you have eaten the champorado if the carton of milk wasn't even open?"
For a split-second I thought about expanding on the previous lie and telling him I didn't add any milk because I didn't think it needed any. But he wouldn't have believed me because he knows me a bit too well sometimes. Plus I'm really a bad liar (which I proved again today). I looked at him sheepishly and tried to give him a hug. "I didn't want to hurt your feelings because you worked so hard cooking it and you were even late for work!" I wailed.
He pulled his body away, "Gah you'll get me sick -- get away from me," he grunted and then grabbed his car keys and walked out the front door.
As you can imagine, I was filled with dread and the worst kind of guilt. I should have just told him the truth (or checked the carton of milk to make sure it was open before he came home) because I could have lived with his annoyed reaction yesterday but not his calling me a liar today (which he did). I walked over to the sink in remorse and began to wash dishes.
The phone rang when I was almost done and I picked it up. "Honey I'm at Coffee Bean right now. Do you want your usual sugar-free Vanilla Blended?" he asked. I paused for a bit, deciding whether to choose what I wanted or what was good for me.
He interrupted my thoughts. "You know, all that dairy might not be good for you because of your bronchitis, hon. Huwag nalang ha?"
"I was just going to say that," I said, just realizing it was the right decision. And I wasn't even lying (although I might have been a second from telling the complete truth). When my husband came home he saw me digging into a bowl of hot chocolate oatmeal. Man, it really was good -- and good for me, too. Just like he is, to tell you the truth.





i can totally relate. something similar happened to me and I couldn't rest a single second not having clarified to hubby that I lied... luckily we have such loving and understanding hubbies, right?
Happy holidays, Gigi and get well soon :)
Posted by: missP | December 17, 2006 at 02:27 PM
gigi, you should marry your husband all over again, what a sweet man he is :)
Posted by: poppycock | December 17, 2006 at 03:16 PM
Hi missP - I have to admit that I thought of taking advantage of being sick and (over)medicated and using both as reasons why I did the stupid thing of lying. But I'd probably only have pissed him off (and he probably did feel sorry for me anyway). :) Now I'm curious as to what you did!
Hello poppycock - (Sigh) People who know him will say the man has a temper and is not one to be crossed, but notice he is far more patient and tolerant when it comes to me. I have to admit he often shows his sweetness in new and surprising ways; his good friends say they can't believe it's the same guy we both know and love. :)
Posted by: Gigi | December 18, 2006 at 07:10 PM
Awwww... you're husband is sweet. Usually I'm the one who makes breakfast for my husband or else he doesn't eat for a long time.
PS you may already know me. I had to change my name and anonymize my blog.
Posted by: Cai | December 18, 2006 at 09:09 PM
Hi Cai -- yes, I do know you :) I changed your link on my blogroll weeks ago as soon as I figured it out. Hmmm... I guess I should change your name, too, huh?
Posted by: Gigi | December 18, 2006 at 11:46 PM