“Mommy Knice’y Decter! No, no, no! We do not do that! What is your little deal?”
As I stood in front of the fridge, still trying to process what had just happened, Anna Grace stood by, glaring, indignant. Little hands on her hips, she watched as I picked up the shards of glass, and wiped up the bacon fat from the floor, and continued (in a bit of a tizzy,) her lecture: “Mommy, you know better! Did Papa tell you that you could just throw your dishes on the floor?”
I guess she had never seen me break a dish before, and I couldn’t get it into her head that it had been an accident. She followed me to the washer, where I rubbed Dawn dish detergent into the huge greasy patch on my dress. “Just look at your dwess, Mommy! You wuined it!”
It had been a pretty good day. We had gone grocery shopping, and I had also organized some cupboards, including the “cupboard-full-of-things-we-never-use” above the fridge. In said cupboard, I found my cookie press. Inspiration struck and we randomly made shortbread cookies. The children had loved watching the pretty shapes come out of the press. They turned out great… crisp, buttery perfection.
That done, it was time to clean up. Anna Grace “washed dishes” in the sink, and Oliver played happily with my cookbooks, while I loaded the dishwasher and tidied up my kitchen. All was well till I opened the fridge to put away my cute little antique dish I keep my bacon drippings in. “Boink!” something landed on me, then there was a big ‘SPLAT!” mixed with the sound of shattering glass, and a yelp of pain/surprise/dismay from me. Suddenly, I stood holding my rusty old kitchen scale, and my dish was on the floor in a mound of gooey fat. The dish was fine, but the lid? Shards of it were all over the kitchen.
My first thought was “What just happened?!” followed by: “OH NO!” (I really liked this dish) followed by: “Wow, I’m an idiot.
I had scooted the scales forward to clean the cupboard, got out the cookie press, and left the scales perched on the front of the fridge, partly resting on the door. Then, when I opened the door… well you can figure out the rest.
As for the broken lid, I think I can find something similar if I watch in thrift stores, etc. Me? Well first I’m thankful that the cookie press was behind the scales and not behind my marble rolling pin.
My wrist is a little tender where the scale hit me, but it could certainly be worse, and I think I learned a lesson.
Anna Grace? As usual, she’s still full of all sorts of mommy-training wisdom. She delivered a final punch before she went back to her playing: “Maybe if you don’t know how to play nice with your dishes, we’ll have to take them all away until you learn.”
Good luck with your meals until then, little lady. 🙂