Sunday, February 8, 2009

Hello, Role Reversal.

In the M household, weekends are our specialty.

Friday evenings are spent canoodling over a bottle of wine and a fancy dinner at a local suburban BYOB, followed by either a trip to the local antique movie theatre or back home to work on our butt-dents in the couch and catch up on a little DVR.

Saturdays are meant for sleeping in, waking up to the smell of a whole wheat pancake-egg-and-turkey-bacon breakfast, followed by a trip to Lowe's, Home Depot, HomeGoods, or some other type of Home Improvement store (we're now on the lookout for a very specific upholstered ottoman that we cannot find ANYWHERE) followed by a little baking and a heated Hubs vs Ashley Paige Wii tournament. (Saturdays have always been my favorite day, as I'm sure you can see why!)

Sundays are our "lazy days" and typically begin with morning mass, followed by a long dog walk in the park and muddled with dull, boring grown-up chores like laundry and the taxes. (I've never much enjoyed Sundays because of the looming work week that always ensues).

Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't trade these weekends for the world. And the new house certainly gives us plenty of tasks to keep busy. Although, I failed to mention that somebody always manages to hurt themself during these days (and by the grace of God, it usually isn't me!) Normally these injuries occur during dinner prep and it's usually Hubs who's sliced off a good chunk of a finger with the amazing Japanese machete/vegetable knife we were given as an engagement present.

I refuse to use this knife due to the amount of money it's already cost us in late-evening trips to the local CVS for band-aids, butterfly bandages and medical tape. It's a good thing Hubs married a nurse- I seriously don't know what he would do without me sometimes!

Let's talk about this morning's chain of events.

Hubs likes to wake up early most Sundays and head out to 9:30am Mass. It's these mornings that I usually wake up on the wrong side of the bed all sorts of cranky because I have to wake up even earlier to be remotely ready for such an early Mass. (Why don't men understand that it takes women at least an hour to get ready for anything??) I usually try to pull for the 6:30pm Mass which Hubs refuses to go because he'd rather be relaxing before the ominous work week.

Trying my best to break this habit, I wake early, compose myself as best I can and head downstairs dressed and ready for 9:30am Mass. What do I find? Hubs, in his PAJAMAS, baking banana bread.

Story of my life.

So, I throw in the towel and decide to help. Afterall, the browning bananas on the countertop for the last two weeks have been shouting "bake me" and I've refused to given in. (I loathe brown bananas- they really do creep me out). Waste not, want not-Hubs and I got to work.

Having recently moved, Hubs and I rarely know where anything is in the new kitchen. I'm constantly calling him on the phone to ask if he happens to remember where we put the ________ (fill in useful kitchen item here).

This morning we couldn't find the 1/2 cup measuring cup. Why Hubs couldn't just fill the 1 cup measuring cup halfway, I will never know. Here I am, interrupted in my sous-chef responsibilities to look for the lost measuring cup.

"OH MY GOD" I scream, as the reailty sets in. I've just sliced my pointer-finger on the stupid serrated vegetable chopper from Williams and Sonoma, while rummaging through the drawer looking for said measuring cup.

Vegetable chopper, you USED to be my favorite kitchen tool!

Being a nurse, I know fingers and heads tend to bleed more than usual. But wow, that's a LOT of blood pouring out of my little finger. I quickly run my finger under the faucet as Hubs continues.. TO LOOK FOR THE MEASURING CUP.

Um, honey? Could you maybe grab me a paper towel?? Or a BAND-AID?

Hubs runs upstairs to the first-aid cabinet (yes, I said cabinet) and returns with the infamous butterfly bandages and medical tape that he's so accustomed to seeing during dinner prep.

He also has that deer in the headlights look.. as in, "I don't really like blood. Can I just finish baking the banana bread?"

So there I am. Trying to maintain pressure and elevation on my poor little digit, all the while, attempting with ONE FUNCTIONAL HAND, to apply the impossible butterfly bandage.

All while Hubs bakes the banana bread.

Role reversal, much?

Oh, and apologies for any excess grammatical/spelling errors. I'm only working with nine fingers here!

1 comment :

  1. Oh my gosh!! I probably shouldn't be laughing, huh? Oh wow, that is so my husband!! This summer, one of our dogs was choking on a toy, so I shoved my hand down his throat to pull it out and he accidently chomped on my finger. My finger gushed, and it was such a deep puncture wound that we were debating the ER. Or, well, I was, as my husband was petting the dog and saying "poor little boy!" as I bled all over the kitchen...

    Hope your finger heals soon!


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