Lunch Break

Murphy's Law: Beware of the rare ubiquitous morning mood which deceives your entire being into believing this day will be flawless.

The above statement is extremely thick with cynicism, so please accept my formal apologies, but before you quickly click out of the doom and gloom blog please hear me out. As the only woman in a household of boys (including the dogs), I have the unique opportunity to capture the essence of man each and every day; their characteristics, absurd justifications, man-jargon, bodily noises and intriguing gestures, and specified gender habits no doubt passed down through a millennia of chromosomal heredity.

I was raised by a single mom, predominately female household, so my childhood experiences of "normal" family life varied significantly from my peers and I rarely got to witness the fascinating aspects of what regular men do in their own environment. I have since received an extensive education and often wonder if indeed other women have gone through the same experiences as I have or has karma decided to seek me out and punish me for all the horrible things I put my older sisters through. Hmmmm....

With that said, I will venture into enlightening you with a now comical story but extremely disturbing at the time. Follow along into the delightful, often riveting world of motherhood involving boys only. 

A seemingly normal sunny day in the summer month of June, I rose from my sleepless night (generously provided by my snoring husband of thirteen years). I began to go through the morning rituals of preparing for yet another day at the office, as always, and felt surprisingly rested. I quickly ran through the beautification ceremony, grabbed a bowl of cereal and was headed out the door when my eldest son appeared before me. Of course, I was astonished to see him awake since we were knee deep in summer vacation, but hid my stunned reaction like the true professional mother I am. We had a five to ten minute conversation about what their plans for the day were before I went into work and if they could do a couple of things for me to prepare for a bbq we were invited to that evening. My son agreed and I was briskly on my way.

The day had been quite busy and lunch crept up on me quickly. I hurriedly grabbed my things and headed home to get a bite to eat and start dessert for the party (five minute strawberry cheesecake, to die for!). Upon opening the door the most retched smell of smoke and burnt food hit me smack in the face. I called out for the boys in alarm but no one answered. I went running through the house searching for the source and came up empty handed. The stove was off, the regrigerator was fine, A/C was running and appeared normal when I looked it over in the garage, no black marks above any outlets in the house, clearly I was stumped. One hand on the cell phone to dial 9-1-1, I resumed my search for a fire. As I continued my quest I rounded the kitchen island and noticed the waste can was missing a bag. Hmmm, curious.....

Outside, near the garbage bin, there was a tuft of white plastic hanging down from the lid. I lifted the top and opened what appeared to be an empty bag but upon further investigation felt something at the bottom. I peered into the sac and saw little black oval objects with bits of yellow littering the base of the bag. I quickly realized I was looking at remnants of what used to be egg staring sadly up at me, begging for their torture to stop. I closed the top and said a quick prayer for the burned poultry shells, may they rest in peace.

Entering into the house again was like wandering into an abyss of volcanic haze with kindled sulfur radiating through the air. I hastily turned off the A/C and began to open the windows in the hope that a strong wind would take pity on our situation. No chance, summer sun was in full swing without a cloud in sight. Wonderful! Opening the last window, I see my favorite pot sitting on top of the patio table apparently sun bathing. Odd? Still in detective mode, I go into the backyard to encounter the sad image of the remaining skeleton that was once a kitchen cooking utensil. Inside the pot was scorched with pieces of shell pasted to the sides as if a bomb had obliterated from within the core of the egg. Crusted streaks of foam littered the exterior of the pot like petrified liquid and it appeared to be crying.

By now I was blatanly aware my children were still M.I.A. I returned to my once beautiful kitchen and began the tedious chore of removing pieces of shell from the walls and undercarriage of the range hood that had been blasted from their boiling bath. Lunchtime was over, I still haven't eaten, children no where in sight, need to go back to work. UUGGHH!

Several calls later to my son's unanswered cell phone I receive a text from my son explaining they were at the movies with grandma and would see me after work. My nerves in check knowing my children were safe and the house still stood unharmed, I grudgingly proceeded to finish my work duties until the glorious five o'clock buzzer rang.

Entering into our still stinky house from a day of bliss and blunder, I notice my beautiful angelic children sitting on the couch reading books. First sign something is amiss; "Hi mom, how was your day?" followed by hugs and kisses. "Fine, thank you." I answered, waiting for the explanation. Crickets could be heard because they then continued to return to their interest in the books giving no retort to my quizzical look.

"Do you have something to tell me?" I asked. "Oh yeah, grandma picked us up and took us to see Transformers 3, it was awesome!"

"Anything else?" still standing at the door, wondering how much more I could take. "Nope." said the youngest, now chiming in.

"Do you want to tell me why the house smells like a fire, my pot is burnt to a crisp on the patio table, and there are charred eggs in the garbage." patiently waiting.... "Oh yeah, I accidentally forgot about the boiled eggs and they exploded."

"Why didn't you tell me?" still amazed about the entire situation. "The house could have started on fire and you two could have been hurt!" Curious looks from both boys now stared unbelievingly at me. "Well, you didn't ask." said the bewildered older child as if I was the one proposing an alien statement.

Note to self: Always ask random safety questions when dealing with adolescents, even if you think it should be self explanatory, such as "did you almost catch the house on fire today?" Obviously in the mind of the male species this is not totally out of the ordinary.

P.S. I am not a feminist or a man-hater, this is merely my rendition and accounts of my crazy yet exciting life as a lone woman living in a house of cavemen!