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Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Don’t bite hand

Everyone knows the saying: “Never bite the hand that feeds you.” Right? My almost 19-year-old daughter Amber has done the majority of the food preparation and cooking since she’s been home from college. It’s not something I necessarily ask her to do on a regular basis, but I do ask and since it’s one of the things she loves to do she eventually just takes it over and fixes all of the meals.

Because of this I am careful about my comments. I mean, if you had someone cooking for six people when you normally have to do it, would you complain?

Didn’t think so.

So, I’ll make a suggestion here or tell her if I have already planned something.

The same goes for laughing and reprimanding – it’s done very gently.

That’s why when Amber almost uttered (more like yelled) a curse word, which she never does and absolutely never in my presence. I knew that a gentle approach was necessary.

Here’s what happened…

Remember yesterday when I took the day off? Well, I don’t think I mentioned that we got in a little late and since my brain took the day off as well I didn’t remember to start anything for dinner. When I returned from getting all of the children, Amber walked into the kitchen and said, “So, do you want me to go to the store to get something ‘cause there’s really nothing ready to cook?”

I listed the stuff that should be in there and glanced at the clock. It was after 6 p.m. Geez!

“Get a pizza and French fries as well as some ground turkey and something so that we’ll have something for the rest of the week.”

She returned from the store, put the pizza and fries in the oven and decided to go ahead and make turkey burgers for tonight. Halfway through making the turkey burgers the pizza was ready and she took it out.

I turned my back to her (I was sitting at the table doing something on my laptop) and suddenly heard some weird sound along with her stifled cuss word. When I turned around, this is what I saw:

DSCF4595French fries all over the floor. Well, they were at the bottom of the oven, in the drawer under the oven and on the floor.

I stifled a laugh.

I jumped up and said, “Why didn’t you tell me you needed help? I was gonna help you… but I didn’t know you were taking them out right then.”

She had put the fries, which were laying on a sheet of aluminum foil, directly on the top rack without a cookie sheet. (I think we threw the others away and never replaced them.) She said she always takes the pizza out, slides if off the cookie sheet and slides the fries onto said cookie sheet. This time the foil tore.

I helped her clean them up, threw two of those handy dandy Birds Eye SteamFresh bags into the microwave and listened to her rant. A little later that evening, I stood in the spot where the fries had been on the floor and said, “Look,” as I pointed to the floor, “there used to be fries here. We can giggle about it now. Hee…” (Yes, I actually said ‘hee’ with a grin.)

Behind her small smile she gave a very fake giggle as I stifled mine. Maybe today she’ll laugh a little more about it.

Oh, and don’t worry, I’ve already asked her permission to post this ‘cause I wouldn’t want to “bite the hand that feeds me.” ;-)

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