As some of you may know, I’m not the best cook. After a few frantic minutes, we realized we were getting more water on each other than anywhere near my cemented-eye, so da boys led me to the bed and we heatedly discussed our options. I wanted them to find me an eye-dropper with which we could douse my eye in warm water and then immediately wipe away the offending goo with a washcloth. Alas, there was no eye-dropper to be found, so we settled for Connor holding a Dixie cup of warm water over my eye and attempting to pour several drops in the general vicinity of my eye while Taylor stood at the ready with several washcloths, a flashlight and his cell. (I'm convinced he was texting during this entire debacle. I'm not sure, though...as I was BLIND.)
(Audience: “Awwww! Nooooo!”)
Yes, it’s true. I’m more than mature enough to recognize my shortcomings:
1) I can’t cook.
2) I’m lousy at golf. (At least, according to Nintendo Wii…where I hold the record as being the only participant who was officially asked to stop playing by the game system. It literally refused to let me try again, I’d failed so miserably. We’re working it out in therapy.)
Otherwise, I’m pretty much perfect.
However, I still can’t cook. This is only a problem if you’re looking to do something as mundane as say….eat. Somehow, I have managed to keep da boys alive this long…no-one’s exactly sure how. I believe Yale University is planning a research study in the near future to hopefully uncover the mystery of their miraculous survival to date. I'll keep you posted.
The actual hazard of my inability to create a healthy meal became apparent this evening, when I made the boys my infamous mac and cheese with hot dogs and peas. (I can see JennyMac gagging somewhere down south as I type this….sorry, doll.) In an effort to save some green (and in my own warped way, to cook from “scratch” as only Kathryn can), I decided to buy the individual ingredients for this savory feast and make it the way I’m sure our forefather’s did: Using the microwave whenever possible.
I was psyched to discover that instead of buying Velveeta Mac & Cheese in the box:
…I can buy the Velveeta cheese separately...
…..(“melts better and a third less fat than cheddar cheese!” YEAH!) and macaroni shells and make it from scratch.
So to speak. (*cough!*)
The first thing that I noticed was that the BLOCK of Velveeta “prepared cheese product” is…how can I say this delicately?....of a thicker consistency than the packet of “cheese” that comes in the pre-packaged kit. (Authors note: I have to admit, I’d never noticed that there’s no mention of this being an actual cheese…much less even in the cheese family. I may therefore refrain from purchasing this product in the future. I’d appreciate it if no-one called Child Protective Services.) Thus, it requires more effort to convert it to the paste-like consistency required to mix thoroughly with the mac….a vital component in creating the infamous mac & cheese. This required many, many minutes in the microwave…with several, intermittent stops for some serious stirring. Connor had to apprentice for this complicated endeavor because…hey, I’m only one person and this is clearly a two-person operation.
Macaroni was cooked, “cheese product” was added, as was cut-up hot dogs and peas. It all gets mixed together into one chemically-induced shade of yellow-not-found-in-nature and is served in heaping globs to da boys, who absolutely devour it.
What?
“It sounds gross,” you say??
I would not know…as I do not eat said meal. I couldn’t even if I wanted to…as it’s completely gone when I come back to clean up the kitchen.
This evening, I was late returning to clean up the mess. (I have “Noelle” to thank for this….hey, sweetie! It was all worth it!) Needless to say, the stuff was like cement on the sides and bottom of my biggest pot. As I tried to scrape the sides down of the yellow, congealed gunk (yeah, okay…so, I’m definitely not buying this again) a bit of gook projectiles off the spoon and hits me DIRECTLY IN MY EYE.
I yell, “I’VE BEEN HIT! OHMYGOD, WHO KNOWS WHAT THE HELL'S IN THIS STUFF! I’M GONNA BE BLIND! IT BURNS! IT BURNS! CALL POISON CONTROL! CHECK THE BOX! SEE WHAT IT SAYS ABOUT RECEIVING A DIRECT PROJECTILE-HIT IN THE EYE! HURRY!!”
Da boys came a-running and helped me (actually, Taylor felt compelled to carry me) to the bathroom, where we attempted to wash out my eye with warm water. However, it seems that upon coming in contact with the “warmness” of my eyeball, the “cheese product” seemed to have taken on a more “liquid” form once again and it had basically soldered my eye closed.
After an unspecified amount of time, I felt the stickiness subside and was finally able to begin rehabilitation of my injury with several deep eye-rinses.
In conclusion, if you see me winking at you…it may just be the residual trauma of a macaroni fly-by that went terribly, terribly wrong.
