You Are Not Alone

When I realized tonight would be the only night this week that Brian would be home for dinner, I decided I should make something nice -- braided French bread pizza from scratch.

The recipe I was using called for me to knead the dough every 10-minutes for an hour. In between kneadings, I put together a sauce. My kitchen is quite small and lacking in counter-top space, so, as I put together the sauce in a pan on the back-burner of my electric stove, I laid the recipe book on the front burner (because, well, really, there isn't anywhere else to put it). Then, I turned on the back burner to simmer the sauce and left the room for a few minutes. Except, I actually didn't turn on the back burner. I turned on the FRONT burner. So, a few minutes later I returned to find the room filled with smoke, the cover of the cookbook melted, and the book seconds away from bursting into flames.

We opened all the windows and doors (at least it was a gorgeous day). But, whereas the kids had been popping in and out of the kitchen saying, "What is that delicious smell?" "It's bread dough my dears." They were now coming in and out of the house saying, "What in the world smells so disgusting!?" "Well, now instead of magnificent bread dough you are inhaling the toxic fumes of melting plastic my dear children."

I continued to work on the pizza, and I came to a step in the instructions that said, "While pre-heating the oven, place an empty pan on lower rack. When the oven is heated, pour water into the pan to create steam." I figured this would give the crust that extra crispy finish or something, so I grabbed the nearest pan and placed it in the oven. When the pizza was ready to be placed in the oven, I opened the door and began pouring water into the pan only to watch with horrified eyes as the pan shattered! That's right, I used a glass pan. And, I refuse to accept that I am so far off-base considering that it was a pan, and it was made to go in the oven. So, even though Brian keeps insisting that it is a simple lesson in physics that I should understand from, say, the way a chip in the windshield will grow into a crack when the temperature outside changes, I still say that I was not expecting that pan to shatter when I tried to create a little steam.

In my extremely pregnant state, I was just a wee-bit shaken by this second hiccup in my attempt to prepare a mere main dish for our family meal. I mean, first I nearly started a fire, then I was faced with risen dough (two-hours in the making) ready to be baked and an oven that needed to be cooled, de-glassed, and re-heated.

I grabbed my phone and called my dear friend who lives four doors down (neighbor-lady to the rescue!). She started pre-heating her oven so that I could bake my pizza while Brian dutifully cleaned the glass out of our oven (super-albeit-head-shaking-hubby to the rescue!). I was feeling pretty lowly, like, "I don't know if I should even be allowed in the kitchen," lowly. And, you know what my friend did? She stood there and told me story after story about ladies who I know, who I greatly admire, and all the stupid things she has personally watched them do. I mean, really put together gals, doing unbelievably stupid things. So, not only was dinner saved, but, I walked away feeling ever so much better about myself. Aren't friends the best?