Mondays--The Real Reason Men Need Microwaves

You know those Mondays that come at you from nowhere? The ones that you could swear were really a Sunday? The calendar just got confused and now everything is cattywompus.

Today has been one of those Mondays. GiGi has been running a fever for two days, and it finally broke yesterday. Last night, she felt so good that she stayed up until 10 running from table to chair to appliance asking, "You see it?" This is my cue to identify the object so that she can repeat: "Chair." "Share!" "Table." "Able!"

It's a fun game, but not at 10 o'clock p.m. with a toddler whose bedtime is 7:30.

So, GiGi overslept. So did I.

I schlepped into the kitchen and tried to light the stove to put the tea kettle on. When, what to my wondering eyes appeared? Flames! Three inches high in the oven.

I stopped. Stared. Asked Hubsie, "What's on fire in the oven?"

"It's bacon!"

And this, this, is why men need microwaves. Ours is broken. Part is on order. Last week, I learned one of the best lifehacks ever. You can cook a whole package of bacon in the oven at 425 for 10 minutes.  I cooked a whole package just like this. It was life changing.

Cooking bacon  on "high" for an indiscriminate time also has the potential to be life changing. (I didn't even know an oven had a "high" setting. Learned something new today.).

While I ran to the garage to stare at the fire extinguisher, contemplating if the mess is really worth it, Hubsie took command over the bacon. Oven mitted, he took his flaming breakfast out the back door (while I stood guard over the cat--who smelled bacon obviously--and the four year old boy--who smelled adventure obviously).  The house smells a little worse for the wear.

But the smoke alarm didn't go off. Which would have been a tragedy, because GiGi was still asleep--in my bed. And, I think the oven is no worse for the wear (though somewhere the former immaculate owners of our house probably felt a little chill down their spines and couldn't figure out quite why).

I couldn't find RJ's insulated lunchbox, so he had to take peanut butter instead of pasta. Then, I knocked his decorator Lightening McQueen box off the counter and broke the handle. So, he marched to school like a man. A man with a Lightening McQueen lunchbox with a white satin ribbon handle.

I forgot my building card at school. And my building key for work.

And, of course, no Monday would be complete without my computer's daily greeting: "Outlook cannot find your local profile."

An hour later, I am at work. Nothing is on fire. Nothing is broken (so far). The week can only go up from here. (Right? Right??).