Mommy took Griffin to work to show him off tonight and I thought this would be a great opportunity for me dazzle her with my culinary expertise. No simple mac and cheese or pasta Primavera, no, not for my wife! I prepped the kitchen utensils and cleaned off the countertops and took aim at her favorite dish; Swanson‘s canned chicken chunks mixed with Philadelphia Cream Cheese and Pizza cheese wrapped in a Pillsbury croissant roll with broccoli rice and home-made egg rolls. Oh, it was to be stupendous! Alas, however, my sister Skyped me! And while in Skype my mind must have wandered, for croissants began to burst and flake than rice got overcooked…but in the end, it was those dang egg rolls that got the best of me. Home made (not by me, by a co-worker who makes them delicious) and ready to fry in oil over the stove top preheated to high. I pulled five rolls from freezer and a sixth (just in case), and dropped them into the high heat and nearly set the kitchen on fire!
What I learned today about being a father:
If Griffin could understand what I just did, he’d laugh. Mama didn’t find it so funny though. Our cramped two-bedroom smells of burnt…something? I can’t place it really. It just smells like smoke. Everything smells like smoke.
It took less than five seconds for our place to be engulfed in the fumes and smoke, 10 seconds for our fire alarm to go off, 12 for the one in the hallway outside our door. I pulled the oil off the flame, but smoke poured over the sides, the oil popped, and the carbon filled my lungs. I was coughing with such force that I dropped the frying oil, with egg rolls, into the sink. More smoke, more popping, skin getting burnt from the drops of popping oil into the air, and then the oven timer goes off…Let me just end right here, what a mess.
What I think I know:
I am no chef, and I’ve never claimed to be one. I tried to do something nice for mama because she was trying so hard to be mama and take care of obligations that she had at work which she couldn’t hand over to some one else. I thought it’d be sweet, thoughtful, the husbandry thing to do.
I called her to warn her not to bring Griffin home for a few hours. It was just too smoky, my eyes still burn and my lungs hurt and I didn’t want to put them through that. I opened all the windows (Wisconsin in April!) and let the smoke take it’s course. Four hours later, four hours, Jackie knocked on the door and I let her in.
“It still smells in here.” She gave me a kiss and handed me dinner, a McDonald’s bag with the french fries mostly eaten. Griffin made a face, and we sat down at the table to eat my wife’s second favorite meal and laughed our heads off.
These are the days we don’t forget, one of the stories we’ll share with Griffin when he makes a mistake or is feeling bad about not being good at something. And if I know Jackie as well as I think I do I know we’ll be laughing our heads off then, too.