It’s 6:30 on a work/school night and I’m poised at the stove, patiently waiting for the basmati rice to rest after twenty minutes of being at a perfect simmer.
I’m still in my navy suit and matching heels–and haven’t even taken the time to put on an apron at an attempt to protect my outfit (Annie Sez special) which is pretty stupid since I’m also caramelizing chicken chunks and veggies to add to the rice—and so a splatter could happen at any moment. But, as usual, I’m in a hurry. My husband’s due in about 20 minutes, so I’m rushing to get the kids fed, dinner on the table for him, the dog fed and out, clean out my briefcase from the day’s work and transfer in relevant notes, and then out the door to run up the street to the 7:00 PTA meeting I’m helping out with.
Suddenly both of my kids, and Ginger, the dog, come pounding into the room. I try to get out the how’s-the-homework-coming question, when my defiant teenage-daughter starts: “Can you PUHLEASE tell him not to be so annoying? His fart jokes are making me sick!” She quickly turns, crosses her arms, and in perfect thirteen year-old style, storms out of the room. Wes, my ten year-old who’s hugged the wall in an effort to avoid his older sister’s body force as she marches away, slithers slowly into the room. I glance at him, but then back at the stove where the heat under the skillet has sent the veggies into a sizzle. I stir and step back to avoid a cloud of steam.
The dog is now at my legs, and I realize I’ll have to feed her as I remedy the sibling situation—or I’ll never get out on time. I grab a can of dog food from the cabinet and a can opener and large spoon from the drawer, and call my son into “my office” (that would be my stove at that moment!) for a talk. I’m focused on him, but opening the can as I speak.
“Now Wes, we’ve talked about this before. You must not…” I start my speech as I also open the top of the now cooked-to-perfection rice, “…bother your sister like that!”
“But Mom,” he starts in an earnest protest. I spoon out the dog food.
“No buts, Wes! You really need to cooperate and …
“But Mom ,” he starts again, this time with escalated impatience and a hand gesture towards the stove.
“No buts, I said!” I emphatically hit the enamel pot as I try to get all the dog food off the spoon. I turn to give him my I-mean-business-mister glare. He’s still pointing to the stove. “What are you…” I start as I look over at the stove where he’s pointing.
I look at the stove top. I gaze at my perfectly cushioned rice, and I see that it wasn’t the vegetables and chicken I added to it, but Ginger’s dog food.
“ I was just trying to tell you, Mom…” my son’s voice sheepishly trails off as he awaits my reaction.
This is hilarious and I think that something this good makes for a really terrific story later for the grandkids as well as a great laughter ( not at the particular moment) for the family involved at all times later. I hope that all the food was refrigerated and warmed later at various different times for individual dog meals for Ginger. She would have really enjoyed the taste!
Julie Cooke, January 25 2007