Sign Me Up for Paper Products!

I admit I have never been a cook. Some women beam with anticipation and blissfully line up to put their name on lists to secure their opportunity to provide food for the consumption of others. I, however,  am the one elbowing those zealots out of the way to make sure I procure my beloved title of “paper products supplier.” It is a job I am good at; it is a job that is safe; it is a job I have sought ever since---The Easter Bunny Incident!

It sounded fun enough. When I picked up my two young sons from the daycare, the director asked if I would contribute one dozen hard boiled eggs to the Easter festivities at the end of the week. OK, sure-boil eggs. I had seen it done. I was sure I could do it. I would be the heroine for my sons (who were 2 and 3 at the time).

Mrs. Burnette, the daycare director, had given me ample notice. She had asked me on Monday to bring the eggs in on Friday.

Friday morning in the middle of my shower—I remembered my obligation. Leaping out of the shower, I jostled the boys awake, and ignored their whining while I herded them to the kitchen. I assured them they would want to see every step of the process-we were going to make a memory! We were going to help the Easter Bunny. This was going to be fun!

We put the water on, turned the burner on high, and dumped the eggs into the pot. Then we went to get dressed. I got myself dressed-put on my makeup-made up my bed-(Feeling pretty good about myself-I was doing something domestic-Yea, Boy!)

Then I went to get the boys ready- Had to read them a book-had to straighten up the room some. (I always allowed myself some time to clean up in the morning since I was always so tired in the evenings.) The rooms were looking good-I was feeling good- I had a career, I had a clean home, and I was cooking something-maybe, just maybe, there was something to feeling satisfied over accomplishing a culinary feat.

That is about the time the smoke detector went off. The sound was deafening-of course I recognized the shrill blast immediately as it was a familiar sound-stupid thing went off any time I cooked something that required turning on the burner. To me it just meant the dish was done. However, this time was a little different.  

As usual, my two little companions followed me to the kitchen. They always got a kick out of watching me climb on the stool to turn off the alarm. But this time, there was black smoke filling the kitchen, and splattered eggs all over the walls and floor. All the water had long since boiled away. Only  a couple of blackened eggs reamined in the pan. Just then there was a hissing noise, and an explosion. An egg went shooting into the air, and the pot shook and the smell was Horrible. Everywhere there was the stench of egg death!
Every one of the dozen eggs was splattered into some repulsive form-there was nothing to salvage.

The boys began crying; I began crying. I cried the entire day at my desk-I was a failure. The boys cried the entire day at daycare. They were traumatized. The poor director said every time she tried to get my boys to dye their eggs (eggs that she had graciously supplied somehow knowing it was unlikely I would show up with any), the boys would shriek and claim the Easter Bunny was going to blow them up.

So don’t judge me too harshly when I sign up for paper products-I’m just trying to keep my family safe!