burned.

I burned dinner tonight. Not all of it. Part of it.

I remembered the dish in the oven only moments before pandemonium ensued. The smoke detector beeped deafeningly. It’s human voice broadcasted with urgency, “Fire, Fire, Fire.” The dog barked incessantly, increasingly louder and in sync with the smoke detector. The girl covered her ears, screamed and ran from the kitchen. B reacted calmly. He handed me the baby after I removed the offending pan from the oven and set it safely to rest away from any fire. He stood under the battle claxon attempting to silence it.

Once the moment was over and there was once again peace in the house, we gathered along the countertop and stabbed at the half burned chicken with a fork.

“I’m not eating that,” Ash declared.

“Why not?” asked B. “What’s wrong with it?”

Ash stared at her father with shock. “Mommy’s not eating any.” True. I wasn’t going to eat any of the chicken anyway, and now there was really no way I was going to have any.

“I’ll eat it.” He took a bite of the chicken, “Crunchy.”

He took another bite and said, “I don’t think it’s supposed to be that black, and it’s a little drier than I usually like it.”

Ash looked at the chicken again, to me and said, “Are you kidding me?”

B took another bite, making a yummy sound.

I don’t know if it was because she was really hungry or if B just made the chicken look so appetizing that Ash eventually reached for a piece of her own. Two.

Before she could take a bite, B intercepted, “Let me help you.” He then picked up a sharp knife and began to butcher the chicken. “The black runs a deep into this piece,” he said examining it. “But I think I can fix it for you.”

By dinner’s end, all but two pieces of the chicken—did I mention they were chicken nuggets?—had been eaten. Those last two pieces had been decidedly declared, in no uncertain terms, to be sawdust, “and none should be subjected to them.”

The funny thing is, it’s not the first time I’ve set off the smoke detector, and it will not be the last. If you want a really good story, just ask B about Christmas morning 1995.

singling out t-shirts

B has a lot of t-shirts, his attire of choice. Over the years he has owned a variety of them, his favorites becoming shabby and threadbare. Periodically, we go through his dresser to remove the most frayed, decrepit, holey and stained, always accompanied with a chorus of “What’s wrong with that one? I don’t see the problem. I can wear that when I’m working around the house.” My duet sings in reply, “You already have 50 work-around-the-house shirts, and still most of the time you choose to work around the house shirtless.” (That’s a fact, not a complaint.)

Eventually we hold a ceremony to severe the bizarre man/t-shirt attachment, and the shirt is surrendered. And over the next few weeks during the customary mourning period, there will be a tear or two welling up in his eyes and a new “favorite” worn almost everyday. I think he wears the same socks, too, in honor of the fallen.

Just the other day, I saw B rolling–instead of folding–his t shirts to fit all of them into his dresser. I wondered if we needed to light the incense and dust off the ceremonial masks. Surprisingly, no. But, somehow a conversation started about some of our old t-shirts, ones that haven’t been seen or worn in, I guess, years.

Me: “What about Eskimo Joe?”

B: “Don’t have him.”

Me: “Me neither.” (We had matching shirts, a gift from my brother.)

B: “I noticed I got back Superman.” (I had borrowed it from him last summer, but now my belly is too big to wear it well.)

Me: “I take it back in the fall after the baby is born.”

(pause)

Me: “What about Singled Out.”

B: “No, I gave that one away.”

Then suddenly I became very sad. You might remember the MTV game show, Singled Out that featured 50 men and women competing for a date with a contestant of the opposite sex. We watched it when we were first married, and I chewed about 20 packs of Hubba Bubba Bubblegum to get that shirt for B, who, every time he wore it, told people that’s how we met. He won me on a game show. His story always made me giggle.

No more Singled Out. I’m not sure what message he’s sending with that, but I think I’m going to take back Superman now.

snippets from mother's day

Ash said, “Mother’s Day is not just about you, Mommy.”

~~~

Brent wrote me a card on Mother’s Day. It read, “I heard a quote the other day that said you don’t only marry someone because you love them but because you can’t live without them. I can’t live you. I will always be here for you. I may be plopped down on the couch in front of the TV, but I'm here.

~~~

Our neighbor stopped by and he said, “I told my wife the other day that Kat looked like she had gained weight and not just a little. She’s getting big.” He didn’t just blurt that out when he walked onto our back deck; he waited until we told him that we were expecting. And then he said, “Congratulations. But, you look great otherwise.”

was it the tacos or the pineapple?

Last night, baby was moving a lot. For the first time, I could feel the kicks outside of my tummy. I asked B if he wanted to feel the baby. He rolled over and placed his hand on my tummy just as a super power kick thrust from my belly.

He asked, "Are you sure that wasn't the tacos?"

I know our Mexican food gets a little aggressive, but we had quiche with homemade french bread and fruit salad for dinner.

a plot to take over the world

To All Comrades in Arms:

Yesterday our home-front mainframe was overtaken by a diabolical and extremely invasive mutant-space virus. Our frontline firewall and two anti-virus protective shields failed in the face of, I’m sorry to say, a far superior technology. This malevolent alien hacked through our entire system assuming command and disabling environmental controls. All was not lost. Most personnel and data were already safely stored off-site, keeping casualties low. It was through the self-sacrifice of a few brave scribes, email we call them, that any residual data made it to the escape pods and saved.

When the dust settled in the aftermath of the initial onslaught, the intrepid Commander B was able to decipher the enemy’s despicable tactics and take back control of our system. That battle was fought quickly and swiftly. At every turn he was able to out maneuver and outwit the enemy. Once again, our lines have been secured and reinforced, and the alien was completely eradicated.

confessions of a rock star

Just after sound check this morning at Musikfest, in Bethlehem, PA, an elderly man approached B, who he surmised as the leader of the rock band and said, “You’re too loud.”

B smiled and said, “Thank you.”