Tonight I forced my children to engage in dinner and conversation. I asked questions. They gave incomplete answers. I made chocolate chip cookies. They salivated. They begged for cookies. I said no. Finally they capitulated and gave their mean old mom the appropriate responses. And I sighed with relief after the two very tense hours was complete, content that my attempt to teach them discipline while not losing my temper was over.
My husband was sitting at the table as the nervous tremors subsided(two shrieking beastlets can cause the nerves to fray a tad), and looked up at the ceiling. He cocked his head to the side and said, “Why is there pumpkin on the ceiling fan?”
And that is when I told him this story…
It was the day before Thanksgiving and all was not well in the house. My car was in the shop with an as yet unnamed issue that was soon to be estimated to cost an arm, a leg, and half an earlobe. I was busily baking pies. My plan was to bake two sugar free pies for me(because why bake one pie when you can bake two?). And I was also baking two pies for a 5K race on Thanksgiving morning. I had gladly completed the first two pies, which were baking in the oven, when I compiled the ingredients for the last pie–my first ever attempt at a sugar-free pumpkin pie.
You must understand how excited I was. I had baked and prepared the two cups of fresh pumpkin(no cans in my house!). I had put it into the blender with the eggs, cream, honey and milk. It was happily blending when I turned away to roll out the crust. A few seconds later I turned back to the running blender to see it leaping off the counter.
I did not shriek. I did not yelp. I simply dove like a ball player racing from third base to home plate and, with outstretched arms, I managed to catch the contraption before it fell and shattered into a thousand pieces. Unfortunately, I had removed the lid at the last stirring and so the perfectly blended liquid inside leapt out and exploded all over the kitchen floor. And the walls. And the kitchen table. And the back door. And, evidently, the ceiling fan.
After I had finished telling my husband about the aberrant blender he looked at me and said, “Margaret, you should never leave the room when the blender is running.”
And my forehead wrinkled a bit but I didn’t say anything snippy. I said, “Well, I didn’t leave the room. I was standing right there rolling out the pie crust. And that crazy blender went and vibrated to the edge of the counter and jumped off.” And then I smiled that smug kind of smile that people do when they are really proud of something.
“And do you know that I have gotten so good at practicing discipline that I didn’t even holler. I just grabbed a bowl and some towels and started cleaning up.”
And my beloved husband, full of wit and wisdom said, “You missed a spot.”
Today we are married 15 years. Happy Anniversary, Honey.
And yes, had you been here the great pumpkin pie catastrophe would never have happened. I honestly don’t know what I would do without you to tell me how to prevent catastrophes after they have already happened.
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