When my husband arrived home and announced that he was going out to visit a buddy… tonight … a deathly foreboding filled the air. I wasn’t sure what it was, or even exactly when … but it was going to happen. Sure enough, moments after he exited the premises a chain of events leapt into action that threatened my very being. Well, at least my stomach. And, as my kids know, my temper is attached to my stomach.
- With no one to cook steaks on the BBQ (One person operating an open flame with 4 small children in attendance is not recommended) I would have to figure out how to cook the defrosted meat fast or come up with another meal. “Oh well”, I said, “forget the steak, I can still use the barley from the side dish and make a different main.”
- The barley burns. Yes, burns so badly that I will be scraping carbon off the bottom of the pot for the next ten days. “Oh well,” I said, cringing at the advancing time, “I’ll be 15 minutes late but we’ll have pasta instead.” I stand by the pot so it won’t burn and feed the girls bits of muffin. The pasta cooks unscathed. I lovingly garnish said dish. Call the children.
- The older two come up stairs screaming. She pushed him; he tried to turn off the button on the TV… that’s exactly how the Gulf war started. I get her calmed down and turn to talk to my son. My daughter takes that moment to “respice” the pasta. The pasta now tastes like the salt lick on Uncle Bills farm. I load everyone in the van. “That’s ok,” I said, “we still have half an hour before the babies go to bed, we can get things at McDonalds.”
- After more screaming and pushing from all the children we are on our way. The children are happy with their meal and start to tuck in. I get a couple fries and the pop from my son’s nugget meal. I decide to go get a bagel instead. Toasted with Strawberry Cream Cheese.
- I eat said bagel. It is burnt on the inside and, somehow, the cream cheese is almost entirely residing in the middle hole. “That’s ok,” I said, “My pop is still pretty good.” The babies start screaming. I take everyone home, making several trips to the car to retrieve all the children and food baggies.
- I arrive back inside to find that my daughter has now drained my pop. Great … she’ll be extra hyper.
So, if you’ll excuse me now I’m going to find something to eat that does not involve heating elements. It will most likely be bologna straight out of the fridge. Wish me well.