The Kind of Day It Was

I decided to make tamales this week.  I've been thinking about them since Christmas and then I found an easier-than-usual recipe for them and then on Tuesday I made them.  I've been sick for a week, so I wasn't feeling very well, but I thought a tamale would be just the thing to cheer me up.  As the tamales were steaming, I was trying to use my tablet but it seemed to have given up the ghost.  It only offered me error messages, and I was feeling very frustrated as I turned it on and off and on and off and on and off (my only tactic for reviving it), since I've owned it for less than a year.  My tamales were taking a really long time to steam, so I made some nachos as an appetizer but then I shattered the nacho plate when I dropped the salsa jar with my clumsy pregnant hands.  When Steve entered the kitchen to see what the noise was about, he asked me why the kitchen was full of smoke and I told HIM that it was full of steam and then we realized that all the water had evaporated from my pot and my tamales were being smoked and our expensive pot was burned to total ruination.  The real indignity came after I tried one of the tamales and realized that the masa was rancid, so I couldn't even eat any of the time-wasting, pot-ruining creations.

When The Bairn asked why I was wailing, I explained that I was sick, my tablet was broken*, my pot was ruined, my dinner was inedible, and my plate was broken.  "Well, that's just life, Mom," he said.  It was a very philosophical response from someone who throws a fit when he can't drink out of a red cup.



*Steve fixed the tablet.  He's a good fixer.