Friday, February 27, 2015

Trying to Make Dinner Ahead During Nap Time

I'm sitting here with a dumb look on my face, my mouth slightly open and my eyes at half-mast though it's 4:11 in the afternoon. By now, I should have made it past that moment in the afternoon during which I want to snuggle deep into my fuzzy blanket and go comatose for a couple of hours.

What causes that desperate urge? Why can't all of society work the way Spain does? I wouldn't mind eating dinner at 10:00 pm. I might not mind getting up at 10:00 in the morning either. I've read that Spain is joining the rest of the world instead of the other way around.

What the crap?

And I don't have a day job, unless you count ministering to the every whim of a fourteen year old boy and his father a day job. So, a nap might not be out of bounds except that we have to leave in fifteen minutes for the boy's karate and I'm desperately trying not to over- or under-cook dinner in the oven that I'm making ahead of time since we are busy until well after eight tonight. There's meatloaf and I also sliced yams....

Damn the yams. Burned.

I quick put the fans on in the bathroom and the kitchen, but the air still has that sweet charcoal smell. Nick opened the sliding glass door, running through the smoke bent over so he could still breathe. How did it get so bad so fast?

And the damned meatloaf is black.

And my boy just passed gas as he walked by and apologized as if I could distinguish his particular notes among the acrid smell coming from the kitchen.

I want to tell Mike that I made his dinner, scorched like the remains of the earth after Putin let go of his resources to get our attention. No, they are not nuclear, but I wouldn't eat them just in case.

I'm awake now. Siesta is over.

Thank you for listening, jules

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