It really should be simple. A Sunday morning, two visiting grandparents, our three children, and some breakfast. Pancakes, bacon and eggs. Is it that hard?
Oh. Hell. Yes. Start with our Project Kitchen Upheaval. Due to the remodeling, I currently have about 2 feet by 2 feet in which to put ingredients, a cookbook, bowls and mixing spoons, 6 small reaching hands, and 1 dog waiting for dropped goodies. And on the counter space, is a blender, a coffee maker, 2 jumbo bottles of wine (the in-laws), a roll of paper towels and some dish soap.
It didn’t seem to be such a stupendously stupid thought at 9:30 am. At 11:15 am, it had entered the Dumbass Ideas Hall of Fame. I don’t have a screen thingy with which to keep the bacon grease from causing 2nd degree burns as I try to flip pancakes on the range, so we cycled 4 pieces of bacon (all that would fit in the dish), at a time, in and out of the microwave. We had 2 pounds of bacon. 4 pieces per 7 minute cycle, 12 pieces per pound. At least 21 minutes to get a pound done, so 42 minutes to finish. Just the stinking bacon.
Bowls for the liquid part of the pancake mixture and supposed to be frothy egg whites, which were not. A bowl for the dry part of the pancake mixture, and another with a dozen eggs to scramble. Catgirl in dress up heels, making insanely loud clomping noises across the hardwood kitchen floor. Blue Boy keeping up a steady stream of Lego space ship noise. Speedreader relating word for every last word, with grand gestures, a Brian Regan comedy routine. All in 10 square feet of the 28oo available to us. Utensils flying, and being grabbed at by short people in attempts “to help”. Same short people alternating pleas of let me let me I wanna I wanna, and that dadgum dog to keep me tripping. My mother in law took over bacon duty, with such earnest effort, she was sweating. And I started smacking anyone that dared removed one blessed piece of the finally cooked product. We’re having a big fun flippin’ family breakfast, so get out of my freaking way, which was not yelled, but spoken in a very controlled low tone, with very direct eye contact. Tears from Catgirl, who declared she simply desired to help Mommy. A whimper from BlueBoy who said he’d not had anything to drink all morning. A look from Speedreader that let me know he was pretty sure I was close to cracking. A husband who said, honey, honey, you’re being a bit hard on them. Is he smoking a big doobie he’s been so cruel to hide from me? My father-in-law, raising ever so subtly the newspaper he’d been behind. And a very exasperated Mom, wondering, stupidly, why in high blue heaven I seem to be the only visible breathing body that can answer questions and meet needs.
By noon, we were seated. Or they were seated, I was serving seconds before I ate one cold pancake, that didn’t quite turn out. It looks so simple, to get it all on, with a patient smile on my face. It seems so pleasant, to sit down together, and share a Sunday morning meal. Why do I forget, like with child birth, how painful it’s really going to be?
