What a fourth part kind of night.
Bonus . . .I'm home by myself. G went fishing (happy spring bring to him) and the girls are spending the night at my parents' house. Chris will be here anxiously anticipating my 'make wise choices' lecture and presentation as we he packs to leave for his spring break fun tomorrow. (Not my fun, his fun.)
Home by myself. Outfit, done. Travel bag, packed. Laundry, ongoing. Dishwasher, emptied.
But. Wait. Those dishes that were in the dishwasher, they were really baking sheets. Why so many being washed? Oh, yeah, my unplanned science experiment from last night caused a need to wash all the baking sheets. Because at around 7 p.m. in the aforementioned evening, those baking sheets, neatly tucked in that drawer at the bottom of the stove, found themselves covered in lots of olive oil and chicken fat. And, added bonus, slivers and shards of glass.
Suddenly, I have another task to get done tonight that I wanted to forget. As I walked in the house after my quick drive home from work, the lingering smell of the self-cleaning oven setting reminded me . . . I had an oven to clean. Not just wipe out with a damp washcloth, as per the instructions. I had to wipe out with a wash cloth and hope I didn't catch a glass splinter.
You see, as I planned for this evening (and last), I knew a roast chicken would hit the spot. Last night, it would have been carved every so carefully and spooned over rice served alongside a salad. Tonight, it would have been a quick meal for me as I settled in to watch some television and fourth part it up.
Instead of a delicious, Ina-Garten-would-have-been-proud roasted chicken, I had a shattered, glass 9x13 baking dish on the floor, on the counter, in the oven . . .everywhere. Plus, chicken fat to slick it up and make the
No, I didn't have a defective baking dish, I had a lapse in judgment moment. I took home ec in high school. I've cooked many, many meals. I've roasted 100s of chickens. I've used baking dishes. I've added chicken stock to pans in the oven.
Did you know adding chicken stock straight from the refrigerator (read: cold liquid) should not be poured into a glass baking dish that has been in the oven at 425 degrees for 40 minutes? Guess what happens if you do that?
An explosion of glass. A partially roasted chicken sitting on a few pieces of onion, directly on the oven racks. It was as if the glass shattered, exploded and disintegrated all at once.
No one was injured except the baking dish. And, my pride. Fortunately, my sister took on finishing up the roasting of the chicken (after I washed it down) so dinner was saved.
After all went to bed last night, I took care of the mess. Sweeping, swiffer-ing, Clorox-wiping and repeating the cycle a few times cleaned the kitchen. I threw the kitchen rug and several dish towels in the washing machine (remember, the laundry I wrote about above). I turned on the self-cleaning feature (that smell and smoke is nothing to enjoy) and went to bed.
Even with the self-cleaning smell and the smoke, I was able to go right to sleep. Initially, I thought the sleep was coming easily because I was being poisoned by the chemicals in my oven. Nope. I slept well because I used my nifty travel-sized roller ball Serenity essential oil blend. I have no idea what oils are in that Serenity but they truly delivered at a time when I needed serenity. I rolled that sweet elixir on my feet (we have lots of points where the oil can be absorbed -- or something like that) and then dabbed on some Bergamot oil. (That helps with anxiety -- poisonous chemicals and glass remnants awaiting bare feet on the kitchen floor.) The oil I also wore to sleep was olive oil from cleaning up the kitchen. Guessing that helps with hunger pangs?
Alongside my two constantly moving in their sleep, sweet twin girls, I slept. Serenity and Bergamot aromotherapied me right to sleep, eliminating thoughts and concerns about potential glass in the dishwasher and washing machine, the need to wake up earlier than we do for school because Camille has gymnastics at 7 a.m. ($&%!!$%) and being poisoned by those self-cleaning chemicals.
Yes, I woke up. Yes, I'm eating leftover, glass-free roasted chicken for dinner tonight. Yes, I'm enjoying a fourth part of watching The Bachelor finale.
Laundry will be finished before bedtime . . . Bedtime that won't include self-cleaning chemical fumes or a film of olive oil on my skin, but rather a bit of Serenity and Bergamot.