Do not step away

(Cover your eyes/ears if you don't like cussing.)

Motherfucker.

That is what I said when this happened:

I was angry to ruin the dinner protein and the second pan in a month by burning it.  

(I am hoping that the pan may be salvageable.  I am vigorously ignoring it at the moment.  The first pan was an Ikea freebie handed down to me by Melody when she moved west.  I burned Kate's lice comb to the bottom of it.  This time I burned some lovely pastured chicken that I had thawed in time to marinate and everything.  Sigh.  In a pan we've had for many, many years and has served us very well.  A Marshall's purchase we likely won't be able to replicate in value.  Sigh.)

There is also a kernel of understanding forming.  That perhaps perimenopause, like pregnancy, is doing wacky shit to my brain.  (It could, I suppose, be related to aging...but my intuition points to the other.)  Maybe I should put a sign up in the kitchen.  DO NOT LEAVE STOVE UNATTENDED.  YES, YOU.  NO, YOU WILL NOT BE RIGHT BACK.  STAY.

I was in a bit of a tizzy.  I wanted some comfort...but also didn't want anyone worrying about the safety of my children.  I'm not sure how, but I was able to float back into some calm and talked to the kids about Plan B.  I wanted to avoid going out or getting take-out because I am tightening the financial belt.  I also didn't want to take them out, literally.  They'd just gotten home from a long playdate and it was cold and dark out.

Then, the proverbial "life gives you lemons, make lemonade" happened.  I listed the foodstuffs we had (including piping rice in the rice cooker)...Gem requested onigiri stuffed with something (we went with deviled ham, a first) and Sag wanted a grilled cheese.

And it was good.  All of it.

Peace.