Tag Archives: cooking

burned tortillas

I drop my son off at preschool three mornings a week at 9:00,
and after circle time I sprint for the car
get home by 9:20
and work feverishly till 11:50,
when i dash back to preschool for pickup.
at home I make his lunch while he plays or watches a show

not infrequently, i burn something while trying to multitask
sending off the last few professional emails in broken bursts
while sweeping up the mud from rubber boots and eight large dog paws
opening the mail
filing bills
talking about his day
and confirming childcare swaps via text message

the acrid smell of a too-hot skillet eddies in from the kitchen
snapping me back to the primary task at hand
and i rush in to tend to lunch two minutes too late

stand over the sink cracking crispy bubbles of burned tortilla
off his quesadilla with a wooden spoon
quietly cursing myself for doing too many things at once
while he breaks down into tears over the news
that I have to work at the restaurant tonight
(as i do every Wednesday)
and I watch myself trying to handle his separation anxiety
wondering if i’m making it worse
and if my networking emails were coherent
and if i moved the laundry into the dryer

i wonder if he associates the acrid smell of burned tortillas
with the heat of his anger
or the bitterness of his disappointment
over things not being easier
I certainly do

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Filed under motherhood, Ordinary, work

just an ordinary thursday, really

morning.
wrangle kid into clothes
potty training
vacuum
sweep
clean up kidspill
make pancake batter
make coffee
feed dogs
flip banana pancakes
make beds
open curtains
talk kid into eating
unload bookshelf
move bookshelf
reassemble
move chair
sweep
pacify meltdown over end of tv time
transition toddler into creative play
research the gyan mudra for monday’s tattoo design
make more coffee
coax kid to eat more breakfast
find missing ball kid desperately needs
rewash husband’s pen-stained work clothes for 4th time
move file cabinet
organize an entire family worth of paperwork.
answer several important emails which require Thought
chat with my momma friends
make lunch
deal with 4 spates of whiny crying intermixed with throwing and hitting
shower
clean up spilled juice
kid hucks the potty
offer him the choice of peeing outside
we stand on the porch together
his tiny bare feet on mine
it is raining softly
and he gets sad
at naptime he holds my hand in the dark
and we listen to Gillian Welch sing “the way it will be”
he falls asleep in a blessedly short ten minutes
and I emerge to sit
alone
in this room
try to figure out what to do with the beautiful solitude
launch myself into action
and try to build up enough inertia to carry me through
tackle the mess on the desk
recycle, put away, categorize, rediscover, trash, sort
dice an onion and sautee it in olive oil with thyme and smoked salt
put on Macklemore’s Can’t Hold Us
and dance
answer more emails
file more papers
stir the soup
and
try to scrape together enough of myself
to remember that once I wanted to be a writer when I grew up
and drag myself to the keyboard

So we put our hands up
like the ceiling can’t hold us

kid wakes up with a 102 degree fever
and i spend the subsequent 5 hours with his tiny frame pressed against mine
hot forehead searing against my skin in the carrier
coaxing him to drink
persuading him to take a thermometer
coercing him to swallow tylenol
and soup
and finally,
soothing him to sleep,
lay there staring at the ceiling
drained

just an ordinary thursday, really

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Filed under basic goodness, Family, Food, love, motherhood, Ordinary, poetry, stories, unrepentantly unedited, watching it all go by