Hello again and happy Wednesday. At least, I think it is Wednesday.
In case there was ever a need for any empirical evidence that Joel mostly doesn't hear anything I tell him, let me tell you a little story:
Last week I made something for dinner. What it was, is not important -- what matters is that I made it in our big, nice Calphalon skillet. Typically this pan is used on our stovetop; however, it also happens to be oven-safe, and since I'd had to brown the meat on the stove and then bake it, I saw no need to dirty another pan. OK so the pan is in the oven, and the timer dings. Jean and Joel are in the kitchen, and I'm upstairs getting changed for volleyball, or something. Joel hollers up: "What does that dinger mean?" And I holler back "Take it out of the oven!".
Then I remember the last time I'd baked something in this pan. I had removed it from the oven, set it on the stove, and promptly grabbed the long handle with my bare hand. Oh yes, in the immortal words of Maurice Chevalier, I remember it well. When I cook with the pan on the stovetop, the handle doesn't get hot. No need for an oven mitt. When the pan comes out of the oven, I assure you, it is hot as blazes.
So, remembering this, I scurry down the stairs, yelling all the way "Don't grab the handle! Don't grab the handle!" in my best Don Knotts-"Citizen's arrest!" voice. For dramatic effect (and to make sure Joel understood), I yelled it a couple more times upon my arrival in the kitchen. Let me emphasize here that I was yelling especially loud and making large, sweeping arm gestures. Extra-dramatic. Even for me.
Panting slightly, I explained that the handle is very hot (which, I know, ought to be obvious since it just came out of the oven) and to remember not to touch it.
I continue getting ready for volleyball.
Two minutes later, I hear a medium-sized crash and some male swearing.
Joel grabbed the handle. Of course, he burned his hand, and had to spend the rest of the evening alternating between icing four of his fingers, and simply holding his hand up above his head to slow the blood flow.
He says he "Listen[s] to [me], but just do[es]n't seem to hear" me. Hmm.
OK, 'nuff of that. Time for a plant update!! The tomatoes have been watered every day, often twice-a-day, and there are actual tomatoes starting to grow. It's very exciting. The plants are even starting to exude that "tomato plant smell" that I didn't even know I knew, but I recall from my youth. It's a great smell. The basil plant in my kitchen is also, well, I hesitate to use the word "thriving" but I've been harvesting basil and somehow also encouraging the new growth. It looks pretty healthy, if I do say so. Oh hey! Green-thumbs out there: does it matter that I put them in a pot sans a drain? I could try to re-pot again if necessary. They seem to be doing OK but I don't know if the lack of a drain is going to cause a problem eventually. Help?
Last night after vball I showered and then went straight to sleep. I awoke at 6:30, feeling very refreshed... and looking just like Justin Guarini. On a no-hair-gel day. (OK not quite as curly.) I didn't even know my hair could do that. Even Joel was impressed. So... it's a little humid this week.
There was something else I was going to ask for a general opinion on... but I have forgotten what it was. Something terribly urgent and fascinating, I'm sure. Cripes, what was it?
Cute kid story of the day: Monday I was admonishing Ed for something, which of course he took very hard and started to cry. Lucy looked at me very seriously and said: "Mommy, you broke my Eddie's heart."