Sunday, June 28, 2009

And more from the Domestic Goddess

One night last week, in a desperate attempt to feed my starving family, I popped an Amy’s frozen pizza into the oven. For the record, the term “cooking dinner” is a phrase I interpret fairly loosely. In the event that I claim to be cooking dinner, or having cooked dinner, you might want to check with Craig to see exactly what that entailed. Now, when I COOK gourmet pizza, I do so directly on the oven rack, since it gives it a nice, crisp crust. Craig prefers softer crust, but I stand firm in my stance that the one who slaves for hours, COOKING DINNER, gets to decide just how that process goes. The only downfall to this cooking method is that it often leaves a mess on the bottom of the stove if you forget to place an empty pan on the shelf underneath the cooking pizza. Not that I’d ever forget, but I am just telling you what would happen if I did.

I’m also not saying that I haven’t used my oven since last week when I cooked a frozen pizza for dinner. If you infer that from reading this post, I’m still standing by my story.

So, tonight I turn on the oven to cook some unnamed dinner accompaniment that will remained unnamed, least I further my tarnished reputation by following up pizza with what I made tonight. I eat healthy about 95% of the time and these two stories converge and draw attention to that remaining 5% quite well, don’t they?

As the oven is heating up to 450 degrees, which is of course a suitable temperature for cooking all things healthy, the pizza remains on the bottom of the stove start turning into lovely little carcinogen chucks. As expected, the smoke detector in the kitchen started to go off.

Immediately, I went into never-missing-a-teachable-moment mommy mode, as I realized Kate had never heard that noise before. The 60 Minutes episode of children sleeping soundly through smoke alarms flashed vividly in my mind.

“Hey Kate, do you know what sound that is?”


“Do you know what that noise means?”

“Dinner is ready?”


Call Me Cate said...

We had the same dinner bell at our house growing up!

Our smoke detector is wired into our security alarm. I'm absolutely terrified of setting it off. I don't need firetrucks because I burnt the toast!

C. Beth said...


Chickie knows about smoke detectors, and they freak her out. So if we're at McDonald's (not that we'd ever go there, but for the sake of the story, you know), she'll hear beeps every two seconds and ask, "What's that? Is that a smoke detector? Is that a smoke detector, Mommy?" I have to assure her it's just "beeping letting them know the food is cooked, or something."

Anonymous said...

that is hilarious!
kids....they are so honest!

Grand Pooba said...

Oh my gosh, she is a smart one isn't she?

Lola said...

Too funny!

Stopping by for the July Comment Challenge.

Jeanne said...

I'm sharing this with Old Dog, who insists I use mine as an oven-timer.

Me, Amplified said...

that is absolutely classic. thanks for the laugh, i haven't fallen over in hysterics for awhile! lol

June Freaking Cleaver said...

Very cute! Reminds me of the time the babysitter and her kids were staying at our house, and she was cooking dinner when I came in from work - the smoke detector was screaming. My son looked at me like it was yesterday's news, "It always does that at her house."