Could This BE More Obvious?

Sometimes you just gotta know when to quit. When to walk away. When to throw in the proverbial towel and never look back. When the voice of God is pretty much shouting down from heaven, “Stop doing this! Before you get into more trouble! Before you seriously hurt someone!” This has never been more clear to me than it was this weekend.


I stubbed my toe while I was cooking. So I think it’s a sign that my cooking days should end. But first let me back up and explain.

So we spent all day Saturday running errands. Now, usually errands mean that we divide and conquer—my husband takes a couple of kids and they hit one town while I take the other two children and hit, oh, six towns or so (ladies, raise your car keys if you can relate). But on Saturday we decided to stick together. So off we went to TargetWalmartOldNavySonicPacSunPostOffice as fast as we could. Which took about twelve hours. And then, because our oldest son is now a driver who’s all legal and stuff, we went car shopping. Which was totally unproductive. But also took hours and hours.

So by the time we made it back home, the Sonic trip was a distant memory and everyone was starving. Enter me. The world’s most reluctant cook. But not that night. That night I was gonna whip us up some dinner. So I crammed every pan we own onto the stovetop and got to work. Water was boiling. Oil was heating. Tomatoes and peppers were being obliterated into itty bitty pieces. For awhile, all went well.

But then I got in a hurry (the bajillion “Omigosh Mom! How much longer(s)??” were starting to get to me). So I grabbed some noodles, rounded the corner, and thwack! hit my little toe on the @$%^@$% doorframe. And @$%^@$% is pretty much what I said while I hopped around on one foot. I think only one child heard me, but of course it was my oldest who thought the whole thing was hilarious, including the cussing. (We’ve since talked. I repented all around. But he hasn’t quit bringing it up).

Anyway, so with what I now think was/is a slightly broken toe, I hobbled over to the stove and glared at the pans, and then began sautéing meatballs. I flipped them. They sizzled. I flipped them again. They sizzled louder. I flipped them one last time for good measure…and sizzling grease flipped all over my hand.

But did I cuss this time? Did I shout obscenities that no child should ever have to hear? That no parent should ever allow into their home lest small (and teenage) children become corrupted?

Um…yes. I’m not proud. But you should see my arm! It’s ugly. It’s wounded. It’s…really only the size of a nickel, but that’s beside the point. It hurt. Bad.

And if you’re the type who enjoys counting, that’s two injuries in one dinnertime prep period. Also bad.

So I held my dang wrist under cold water for what felt like forever while the whole stupid dinner burned behind me. And I kept thinking one thing. One thought that kept gliding through my mind like melted butter (which also hurts when it lands on your arm. trust me on this). And the thought was this: You knew you shouldn’t cook. You knew stuff like this always happens when you get in a hurry. You knew God was telling you to hire a chef (I might have been a little iffy on that last one, but I don’t think so).

Alas, I cooked anyway. And I got burned. And broken. And cussy.

And we ate dinner, and all in all it wasn’t half bad.

But still…I learned a few lessons that night. Lessons that I will carry with me, maybe for forever. And here they are:

1. I shouldn’t hurry in the kitchen.
2. Hot oil is not my friend.
3. Doorframes—also the enemy.
4. Cussing is bad, though sometimes accidental.
5. Cooking is bad, and also causes accidents.
6. I will probably never have a chef.

Which brings me to my last lesson, which is really more of a sad realization:

7. Because I still don’t have a chef and will quite possibly have to cook all these dinners on my own forever and ever, obviously the only person paying attention to the voice of God on this issue…

is me.

**This post is brought to you by Amy, her broken toe, her burned arm, and her self-pity-laden Saturday.**

Have a great Monday!


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