I'm in love with my slow cooker. He spends all day cooking me dinner. If I'm late, he keeps it warm for me. Whenever I walk into the house, it smells like someone has spent the day slaving away over a steaming cauldron. But not someone I have to talk to.
There is some front-loaded labor--the chopping, browning, sauteing, deglazing--but by 9AM all that is in the rear view mirror, even the dishes. Like an early workout, you sleep through most of it.
I know you have had a troubled relationship with your slow cooker, some disappointments and dashed expectations. (Expectations are resentments under construction)
I think there are a few reasons I feel such deep and enduring love for my slow cooker. (Love, not Stockholm syndrome) Not to bring up a sensitive subject, but I always use home made broth. (The slow cooker is a great way to make that broth, and it is an easy outing that can foster closeness and trust.) I rarely measure and usually add more of everything. (In yoga, more may not be better, it may be just more, but in cooking, more is always better)
And he is the only one who ever cooks me dinner. The dogs are great company and always willing to share the deer guts or horse manure, but they are hopeless with a saute pan, and I don't let them near the immersion blender!
Beef and Barley Soup