Today marks the 7th year of my littlest man’s life. He came home from school jubilant with gold star stickers everywhere. No paper crown this year…he says he’s too big. But I know there’s a secret paper hat making session happening sometime tonight…
“Mommy…can you staple this?”
He wanted brownies instead of a cake. Simple enough when Hub worked from home but I’m no baker. Great cook…but I don’t go below the stovetop. But it was up to me this year.
We have a gas stove, brand new except for that one time I tried to roast a chicken. The gook spilled over and now every time we do try to bake the house fogs up for a minute. It’s a tiny spill, I tell you! And I swear I haven’t gone near the oven since. Today, though…
Holy toxic fumage, Batman!
I can’t smell so I guess it took me a while to notice that the house was slowly filling up with something…rank.
My eyes and nose didn’t start watering until just before the kids walked in (2 hours later) and said “Gross is that the brownies?’l
For the record, it was not the brownies. They are perfection. My first time making them, too! (Box? So what!)
Anyway, I herded them outside for a few hours. It didn’t occur to me to open any windows until we tried to go back in and…well I’m sure you can guess. Sigh. Windows, fans, bubbles, a box of nerds, back to the yard, Men!
I sat, tense as a board, watching them play (oblivious) for another hour. Through the French doors I spotted the cats wrestling and figured if they could survive it, so must I. I’d made promises, after all.
Nothing died or exploded, the kids were safe on the yard and Hub would be home soon. I cleaned everything but myself (as usual), made dinner, responded to customers, and finished an epic, three-month battle with a lamb.
Not bad for four hours of sleep.
What…oh the lamb thing? I’ll have to save him for next time, even though it was he who inspired this post. It’s just that at the end of this war, stressed, frustrated, and high on mystic stove fumes as I was, the whole thing reminded me of birth.
Moms of the world can sympathize, I’m sure.
Especially because…well like I said…next time.
There’s a birthday boy needing a bath and a book in there.