chicken bones.

It doesn’t take much time around me to learn I’m a domestic goddess dropout.

To further intensify my insecurities, both my mom and Drew’s mom are like Martha Stewart meets Mr. Rogers. They’re the most loving, hospitable, and crafty moms I know.

And then there’s me and my many talents.

Like my unnatural ability to shrink clothes.

My Drew loves to recount the time I shrank his treasured half-zip sweater. When I finished my work, the sweater was ready to be donned by a hamster.  It was only last week that I discolored Drew’s favorite shorts and lost any laundry privileges I recently regained.

I’m also a misfit mom.

For many reasons, really.  But mostly because I’m laid back.  I know this because nearly everyone who observes me with our Andy remarks, “Wow, you are really laid back for a first-time mom.”

I know what you’re trying to say, you mean people.

I’m currently watching Andy, who’s outside, licking our grill cover.

Andy was proudly toting Sergis P’s feces the other day.

Strong immunities, people.

Regarding my homemaking woes, I mostly try to laugh them off like I don’t care, although secretly I do. It’s just that, well, I try really hard.

I sometimes pep myself up with the idea that I have other gifts–we just don’t know what they are yet.

Then there’s my culinary expertise. My Drew has some very special terms-of-art to describe my skill set.  Like the infamous brown-bottom special.  Because most food I serve is generously overcooked.

Remarkably, my most overcooked meals have been in the crock pot. Drew claims this is quite a feat because, in his humble opinion, crock pot food is known for its tenderness.

The brown-bottom special made an unwelcome appearance recently, one evening.

You see, I try to cook extra dinner for Drew to take in his lunch.

I think we can agree that chicken and rice is a fairly rudimentary meal, even for a C-Team chef such as myself.

Perhaps it was the short-grain rice that needed some extra attention.

It was a scene straight from Christmas Vacation’s turkey dinner.

My sweet Drew tried to fake it, he really did. But when I looked up at him during dinner, he looked like he was chewing sand.

At one point, Drew even sheepishly grinned at me, but very dry rice was caked to his teeth and lips, so it didn’t really work out.

“This tastes good,” he whispered.

To Drew’s chagrin, we had abundant leftovers for him to take as lunches.

Wanting to forget about dinner, I quickly disposed of the Sahara Desert chicken and rice, shoving them down the kitchen sink.  This may or may not have included a whole chicken breast or two.

Shrugs shoulders.

Oddly enough, our sink began flooding.

As I got our Andy ready for bed, Drew began taking apart the pipes underneath the sink.

I knew we were in for a memorable evening when I heard water cascading onto the kitchen floor.

I still haven’t told Drew this, but I apparently forgot to stop the running dishwasher before he started taking apart the shared pipes.

I suspect Drew probably knows now.

When I heard water gushing, I came running and made it just in time to be sprayed with rice spewing from the pipes.

I’ve decided my parents are really to blame for these failures.

Dad and Mom repeatedly encouraged me that I can do anything. So every time I undertake a project, I truly believe it’s going to turn out.  There’s usually an extreme dissonance between my vision and reality.

With Andy, I’m teaching him that he’ll mostly fail.  Then he can be pleasantly surprised when he succeeds.

I kid. I kid.

Well, trust me when I say that plumbers might be making some serious cash because we unfortunately had to call one to retrieve the whole chicken breasts and rice stuck in our line.

I am now pleased to announce that our sink is draining like a champ.

We are, in fact, still married.

Drew and I laugh to the point of tears about the description on our plumbing bill concerning the kitchen sink that was clogged with chicken bones.

Nobody ever said a thing about bones.

And for the record, the plumber found no direct evidence of chicken or the aforementioned bones.

And the best part about marital spats is the making up.

Wink wink.

 

Chicken bones.png

 

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