The cook returns to the kitchen: Chronicles of a spastic housewife, chapter 2

March 30, 2010 § 1 Comment

Image Credit: http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gw74eml2a3o/SOTTTc11a6I/AAAAAAAAAvw/uzelRrR1gZY/s1600-h/housewife_1_.jpg

I had just finished doing an impromptu session of kick-boxing in our tiny apartment living room in an attempt to intimidate our neighbors.  Having not engaged in such challenging muscular activity for some time, I was visibly shaking.

This was when I decided it was time for dinner. I was, like I said, visibly shaking (both from hunger and from exercise). Nevertheless, I thought it would be good to not only take on dinner for that night, but also for the next night, and pack lunches and put away dishes from breakfast.  And maybe sweep the floor, wipe down the counters and touch up my toenails while I’m at it.  Just kidding.

So here I was with a crock-pot on one counter, cutting boards, knives, and vegetables falling off the other counter, boiling water, lunch baggies, dirty cereal bowls, a running faucet and a saute pan on the stove containing oil that was quickly getting hot. And, shaking.

As I prepared to cut miniature bell peppers, green beans, and onion on one too small cutting board that wouldn’t quite fit on our too small counter, I inched it over toward the stove, and continued happily chopping, adding pasta to the water, wiping clean the coffee mugs to put in the dishwasher, adding snacks and fruit to Alex’s lunch, etc.

Next thing I knew, it was melted. MELTED – the cutting board.  Our lovely color coated cutting board (this was the blue one with the fish emblem on it) was looking very wobbled. SAD.  [I do have a short history of melting objects in the kitchen: read: chunks of melted spatula ruined my only (failed) batch of apple butter].

Then, within the next thirty seconds, I managed to spill a large amount of water onto the floor and dump a medium amount of cooked pasta onto the stove instead of back into its proper pot. Also sad. And wet.

But, hear this: I did not scream. I did not panic. I did not begin to cry.  Maybe I whimpered a little at the sight of poor melted fishie cutting board — but that is all.  I also happily ate (some of) the pasta off the stove top instead of putting it back in the pot.

I think this is an improvement, don’t you? Hot pasta on the table, a chuck roast in the crock pot, sandwiches packed for the next day, and an empty kitchen sink.  All in 20 minutes.  With only a little chaos, and only a little whimper.

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