Thursday, March 6, 2014

The Progression of Dinner

At about 4:30 pm Reid and I began prepping tonight's dinner. Even though my most favorite food blogger of all time warned it would only take 30 minutes (or less) to make tonight's penne with roasted asparagus and balsamic butter, I began early -- knowing that 30 minute meals almost always turn into 40 minute ones around here (and likewise, $10 or less always ends up $12 or more).

At our onset, I was in mother heaven. Reid was perched on his stool, helping me snap asparagus spears. He added the salt and pepper while I added the olive oil; together we tossed. Once the spears began roasting in the oven, I gave him the butter, a butter knife, and our cutting board. He was in Reid heaven. A happy place where his mom is cheery and he's being "a great helper." Together we measured out the vinegar and the water began boiling.

We heard Nell cooing from her crib. I sent him in to entertain her while I put a few finishing touches on the dinner, knowing I could return in just a few moments.

And then.

I walked into a room reeking of poop. I saw the big wet stain on the sheet, and I began emergency mode.

It only escalated from there (please know, when I first had kids and read a blogger who wrote about her 2nd child's blow out I was like "what? why would? what?" and I think I stopped reading her blog ... my deepest apologies -- both to her and to anyone who stops reading right now).

Diaper changing was anything but swift and clean. I shoved her dirty clothes into a ziploc bag I found lying around the play room. The garbage liner slunched over when I dropped her diaper into it, making the safe disposal of each wipe a difficult task.

Mid clean Reid decided he needed to use the potty. He ran to the bathroom and immediately began screaming for me to come in and help him. The boy can pull his drawers down all by himself, but refuses to even try until I am in there coaching him. I'm so over that tantrum.

Once her front was finally cleaned I turned to the back, only to find disaster. The tub was inevitable. I can't even remember if I used a free hand to help Reid, I'm inclined to say I didn't. The next interaction I remember having with Reid came while I was hunched over washing Nell's backside. He had climbed up on a bar stool that is in the bathroom (for who knows what reason -- well I know but that's not the point), and he and the bar stool both came crashing down on the hard tile floor. He was trapped inside the stool and my baby was shivering in the tub.

It was chaotic. And then the oven timer went off. I suddenly remembered that idyllic new recipe that was burning up and boiling over in my kitchen.

I comforted Reid, washed my hands (yes, in that order -- gross I know), finished scrubbing Nell, wrapper her in a towel, rushed her back to the changing table (which wasn't exactly primed for a clean baby to lie upon), and got her dressed.

We all raced into the kitchen where I quickly removed the over-roasted asparagus and stirred the burning noodles and vinegar.

Reid stole some crackers from off the counter, and I hardly even noticed because he and Nell were both quite while I quickly threw the three components of my meal together into one beautiful dish.

I looked back at their happy, messy cracker faces and then to the clock on the microwave; only to discover it wasn't even 5:00 pm yet, and I should have trusted Mel. I could have started it at that moment and been totally fine. By some magical fate of magic, it better still be at least a little bit warm when Ben walks in the door.

So at 5:00 I began sanitizing my tub. Next I suppose I'll have to do some laundry. Ziploc will keep that thing fresh.

Signing off, at 5:23 pm -- because sometimes you just need to sit down and write after a bit of crazy wrecked your house. And before you meet the laundry. 

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

The adventures of motherhood! Mom had to change a six year old's poopy clothes today, because he got it all over himself and the bathroom trying to do it himself. I don't think you would have wanted to trade her places, regardless of how terrible you think your situation was! It could always be worse!

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