The back-story is that, like it or not, the oldest child of a handicapped sister and a newborn is forced into some independence. While it may not be ideal that he washes his own hands (a 6/10 on the cleanliness factor) or pours his own cereal (only chunky kinds, he is not ready for rice krispies or anything like that)...it is a necessity for small tasks that he doesn't want to wait 15 minutes for momma to help with. (and momma doesn't want to listen to the 400 times he would ask in those 15 minutes). Anyway, warming up the 'microwave safe' cow is one of those tasks that he does...with me hollering out instructions while holding a nursing baby or a feeding tube. "Push 9. Push 0. Push Start". Those are the instructions. He knows his numbers. We've never had a problem.
Until today. Disasters always happen when there are a million mini-catastrophes in the works. Little baby is hungry. Middle baby is dirty. Men are mowing the lawn. The phone is ringing. Paul is calling to see if I can get some numbers off his computer. And then it dawns on me....at the exact same moment that Garrett whines "this cow is never going to be ready"....he has been standing in front of that microwave an awfully long time....it smells funny in here....there is smoke billowing up in my kitchen. Ohhh Nooooo!!!!!!
I run over, open the microwave, and it is like scene out of cartoon horror. Cow has met his maker. He is smoking and crispy. And, I start laughing hysterically. Because I'm sensitive to the needs of my children like that. Double fail. But, I couldn't quit laughing, which made Garrett cry even harder. (Side note: what is wrong with me that I
Anyway, cow quickly made his way outside, away from the smoke detector, with a pair of grilling tongs. And, because I'm a better 'one-click Amazon shopper' than I am 'explainer of life's disappointments'....a new cozy plush animal is on its way in the mail. Oh, and for the record, cozy plush animals should, indeed, be microwaved on high for 90 seconds.....and not nearly 9 minutes.