Excuses Wrapped in Chocolate

My life is a non-stop sit-com!
It has become a standing joke in our home that at any given moment if one were to check in on us there would be some sort of drama, upheaval, crisis, or catastrophe.  It's just how it is with us.  If there is a rain storm, we are the ones whose sump pump stops working at 2 AM and we have to bail water.  We are the ones with the pipe leaks that cause damage to our ceiling, or a refrigerator that stops working with it full of perishables.  We are those people who never seem to do things in a quiet way.  There's always an issue that requires immediate attention.  If you have followed my blogs you already know this.  If you have read my books like 'Don't Build a House When You're Going Through Menopause'  or the soon-to-be-published 'Calamity Central' you have to agree that there is never a dull moment in the Bryan household.  So it will come as no surprise that when I decide to make a  dinner for company something is going to go wrong.  Being aware of this I plan ahead.  Especially with my caregiving responsibilities, I am careful to allow for mishaps and time things accordingly.  Consequently, when we were meeting our son's girlfriend's parents for the first time, I planned a nice dinner to welcome them to our home, allowing plenty of time for preparation.  I chose a simple menu with one of my specialty desserts.  I hate to brag, but I do make a killer chocolate cake that actually tastes better when it has been baked the day or two before. I figured that I would bake it and put it in the freezer.  As I assembled ingredients I knew that it would be best to bake the cake after putting Mom to bed so I could concentrate on what I was doing without interruption.  Unfortunately, that meant that I couldn't get started until after 8 PM.  

*Note to reader: Stay with me here as I set the stage for the disaster.

 While waiting for Mom's bedtime, I figured that I would put up a bread dough for homemade dinner rolls.  We buy huge bags of flour for my baking and we keep the bag on the floor of the pantry but I scoop out some of the flour into a large plastic bin that is easier to handle.  On this particular night I removed the flour bin and was about to measure out 6 cups of flour when I noticed a moth larva on the lid of the bin.  I immediately panicked knowing that moth larva meant that we had an infestation in the pantry.  This happened to us once before and it took us forever to find the offending grain that attracted the moths.  Meanwhile we had to throw out lots of food, so I was understandably worried.  I began looking around at all packages (most were preventatively packed in sealed containers.)  The flour was the only source that showed possible infestation.
"Skip!" I called.  "I need help!" I needed muscles to help lift the gargantuan bag so that I could examine the contents more closely.  I took a sieve and began to measure out the flour one cup at a time examining it and transferring the filtered flour to a bowl.  After a great deal of time I found no evidence of infestation and then began to do the same to the flour in the sealed plastic container.  Still, there was no sign of moth larvae which meant it was elsewhere in the pantry...lurking until I needed a particular product.  Then, and only then I would be surprised with the remnants of ugly larva shells and throw out a much needed ingredient for a meal I was preparing.  Isn't that always the way?  I was relieved to know that I didn't have to send Skip out for an emergency bag of flour that evening though.  It meant that I could continue with my plan, albeit my entire kitchen was now sporting a layer of flour from all of the sifting and shaking.

I quickly prepared  the bread dough and set it aside to rise. Then I focused on measuring ingredients for the cake.  When all was ready I even began to roll out the rolls before Mom's bedtime, congratulating myself on my efficiency.  There was dough left over so I decided to make some cinnamon buns -- Skip's favorite.  Once Mom was in bed I began my baking in earnest.  The dinner rolls were in the oven baking while I prepared the cinnamon rolls.  I was watching the clock and distracted by the mess in the kitchen with the bowls of flour still sitting out.  (That's my first excuse...there'll be more in a minute.)  I rolled up the sweet rolls and popped them in the oven after the dinner rolls came out and then began preparing the cake that called for 4 eggs.  The last thing to do was to carefully and slowly pour boiling water into the cake batter while the mixer was set on low. That was so the eggs wouldn't cook.   There were no clean measuring cups so I grabbed a small plastic one that is a little light weight and awkward to use.  (That's my second excuse). I boiled the water and poured it in the cup to dispense in the bowl while the rotating paddle worked it into the batter. As I poured the liquid some of the water splashed out and burned my hand.
"ARGH!" I yelled, jerking my hand back and dropping the cup into the mixer.  The paddle hit it with a thunk and a splash, and rather than damaging an expensive mixer I turned it off to retrieve my cup.  With a burned hand I ran to the kitchen sink to run cold water on it, but had to hurry back to the batter before the hot water cooked the eggs.  (My third excuse).  In my haste, distraction, and pain I turned the mixer on high forgetting that the water had not yet been incorporated into the batter. There was an explosion of chocolate that splattered everywhere.  I was covered in chocolate. The walls were covered in chocolate.  The cabinets, the sink, the counters, the canisters, the cups, pots, glasses and bags were all covered in chocolate.  Skip came running when he heard me howling and pointed out that the ceiling was also splattered with chocolate. He ran for a ladder and a sponge mop. I began sponging off all of the other surfaces as my oven buzzer announced that the cinnamon buns were done. I had to stop my cleaning so my baked confections didn't burn. I couldn't figure out why they didn't smell like cinnamon until I removed them and realized that I had forgotten to add the cinnamon to the mix.  What a disaster!
"Um honey?  How would you like something besides cinnamon buns?" I asked sheepishly.
"No.  I like cinnamon buns," Skip reassured me.
Sighing, I tried to think of what to do to save the buns.  Then it came to me. Being resourceful, I began mixing an orange sugar drizzle. "You know, I was thinking that maybe these should be...um...   vanilla orange buns".  Before Skip could protest I sliced off a sample and presented the warm gooey bun for his tasting pleasure.
"Mmmm.  Delicious!" He told me.
Aha!  I saved the buns and actually discovered a new bit of deliciousness.

At the end of the evening I  baked my cake, did two loads of laundry filled with chocolate covered towels and rags, put the flour back in the pantry, packaged the rolls and buns and put everything in the freezer.  I even managed to clean up the pots and pans.  It was 1:00 AM when I climbed into bed with an exhausted sigh.  My mind was clear though; another crisis was handled and aside from a hand that still hurt from the mishap with the boiling water, all was in order. 

 ****

The next morning while Skip sat with Mom, I ran from an appointment to a lunch meeting and then back home with an hour to spare before a phone interview. I saw Mom walking in from outside where she had been enjoying a sunny November day.  She smiled broadly when she saw me (which was a good sign that she recognized me.)
"Hi Mom," I greeted.  "What have you been up to?"
"I was just enjoying the sun," she told me. Then she gave a thoughtful look at me and asked, "Would you like me to help you go outside?"
I smiled appreciatively and told her with utmost sincerity, "Oh that is so kind of you to offer to help me but I have some things to do."  I mused over her offer.  It told me so much in those few words.  Mom was still mobile and confident enough to help others.  The part of her who was always helpful, always ready to do something nice for someone, was still present.  Most of the time it was buried under the numbness of fuzzy thinking and a brain destroyed by dementia.  But every once in a while, it came out and showed itself.  Skip, who overheard what Mom said, looked at me with a puzzled expression.  It was such a strange comment and certainly out of character for her present situation.  He and I exchanged a couple of words about how weird it was and for him, that was the end of it.  For me, however, I thought about it for quite a while.  I was ready to begin my baking again.  I magnanimously invited Mom to sit down and watch in a rare moment of generosity. Normally I was more inclined to grouse about her being in the way and underfoot but this seemed to be something I wanted to do today.  In fact, when I had finished my preparations of a delicious chocolate frosting, I offered the spoon for her to lick clean.  She was so pleased.  With each taste she remarked, "This is delicious!"  It was such a simple exchange but it was so meaningful.  This sweet moment was one to remember, one to cherish.  It just goes to show me that not all days are pandemonium-filled, and along with the craziness there are wonderful moments of sanity.