The beauty of the crock pot

Unbeknownst to ye readers, I have been a little cooking machine the past few weeks, making on the order of 3 homemade meals per week. Well, I say that "I" have been a cooking machine, but actually it has been my crock pot. I have one of those "fancy" numbers, which I paid a whopping $12.99 for, that has a removable crock. This means that you can be so lazy as to put your uncooked garbage in there the night before, and just set the crock in the cooker on your way to work in the morning. I used this lovely feature last night and this morning to make a 2 lb pot roast with carrots and onions. It was deeeeevine. And, in the future, it will be even better when I figure out how to buy meat. As in how to identify a roast that is less than 50% fat (although that characteristic of this slab of meat did make it taste remarkably like melted butter). Twice now I have cooked chicken + vegetables, and once I made chicken tortilla soup. All have been insanely easy and delicious, two qualities I would not have expected from anything involving putting me in the kitchen. Why this sudden Betty-Crocker push? This is all a stepping-stone to my eventual stay-at-home momness. Also, now that Isaac can sit at the table with us with minimal fussing, my desire for family dinners each night, real ones where everyone sits down together and talks about their days, is growing exponentially.

One thing that boggles my mind, however, is that my darling husband remains a crock pot snob. I really don't know why -- perhaps it's the lack of labor involved that makes it seem like less of a "real" meal to him or something. He was incredibly averse to the purchase of the crock pot in the first place, and each time I announce that I am cooking something in the crock pot, he acts incredibly disappointed. Obnoxiously, this sentiment completely disappears when he tastes what comes out of the crock pot. Example: I had cooked three luscious chicken-oriented meals for him in my crockery. Yesterday at the grocery store I bought this slab of beef for roast beef tonight. I made him put away the groceries: "Why did you buy a roast?" Why, to cook in the crock pot, dear. "I was afraid you'd say that." And I had to fight him to get any of the roast in my mouth this evening. I seriously thought he might bite me. How many delicious, nutritious, and cost-conscious home-cooked meals will it take to convert Dad? Regardless, I will continue in my crock-pot addict ways. How else am I supposed to pay attention to speed-crawler baby and cook dinner at the same time?