I was in the kitchen all morning, cooking and cleaning and once in a while grumbling to myself. Two things had occurred for a whole week: writer’s block and me going on strike.
I was tired of cooking glorious (ie: not out of a frozen box) meals that no one was even home for. And tired of the dishes not washing themselves because no one was available to wash them. Or put them away.
We ran out of spoons.
Still no one got the message.
We ran out of all the food that you could take from the shelf and insert directly into your mouth.
After that it was, “Mom, there’s nothing to eat!” while staring into the cupboards.
I had to grocery shop and of course, if I want to know what I need besides milk (a gallon a day keeps the boys at bay) I had to completely gut the pantries and clean the fridge and undo the chaos.
I was in a zone when I accidentally did something so awesome I have to show it to you right now. Seriously, stop what you’re doing and look at this:
Here’s the background:
Problem 1: I bought three sizes of silicone muffin tins online but only use the regular size, ever. Because I’m stubborn, I kept the other two sizes for “someday” and they stare at me all the time, laughing because they got to stay but have no purpose.
Problem 2: I get the tea kettle and Hubby gets the Keurig. His cute little K-Cups fill a shallow drawer just below the beast and as he uses them up, I refill the drawer from the massive Costco sized pallet of K-Cups he bought. They roll around and you have to fiddle with them to find the flavor you think might be in there.
I talk my OCD down regularly with “Girl, you don’t even drink this stuff. It’s his annoyance.”
But there it is.
I had just had the thought, “Fine. I’ll break down and actually pay money for the little trays that hold these cuplets,” when I looked up and saw this cheeky red mini-muffin tray smiling at me.
The. End. I’m. Awesome.
And all the little cups stay facing the right way and pop right out when you reach for one.
AAAaaaaand…when I ask the next guest which coffee she prefers, I can lift out the whole tray and show it to her.
I’m going on Shark Tank with it.
Remember, you saw it here first.
In the meantime, my daughter was downstairs getting ready to leave for work. She was the last man out. I could hear her down there, speaking sternly to herself about something, and I felt so happy about it. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but knowing that my little quirks live on in my kids is a comfort.
The benign quirks of course, not the freaky ones.
I jumped right into a speech to myself about the greatness of clean kitchens and how I’m going to award myself the Medal of Honor for the last five hours of standing on my feet getting it done when in walks my girl.
“Mom, who are you talking to?”
“The same person you were of course, myself.”
I turned around, dishtowel in one hand and tea mug in the other.
She had her phone to one ear and was frowning at me with deep concern.
“Mom, you are one day closer to the nursing home. Think about it.”
And then she and her phone chatted their way out the front door.
Polly put the kettle on.
I have some heavy drinking to do.