We are all standing in the kitchen. Mark sips his coffee, “One of you ladies want to make carrot bread?”
Kallan leaps into air, “Me!”
Maj protests, “She always gets to cook everything! That’s not fair! I want to make the carrot bread.”
I look at Mark, “She’s right, you know. Kallan gets to do more cooking than Maj does. Let’s let Maj make the carrot bread.”
Kallan grumbles as Maj starts pulling things out of the cupboards. Mark looks at me doubtfully, “Ummm . . . maybe someone should help Maj?”
“Daddy, what are you trying to say? I know how to cook stuff! I don’t need any help.”
I speak soothingly, “Maj, Daddy is just remembering a few cooking mishaps that have . . . ummm . . . sort of been your fault.”
Maj is annoyed, “WHAT? Name one.”
“Ummm . . . that time you poured flour into the bowl from three feet above and dusted the whole kitchen.”
Kallan pipes up, “That time you burned the last chocolate in the house by melting it in the microwave until there were flames.”
Mark tosses in, “That time your friend was using the electric hand mixer and you stuck a fork into the blades. That was the biggest mess I have ever seen.”
I giggle, “That time you boiled . . .”
Maj glares at us, “Alright. Geez. A person makes a few small mistakes in this house, and everyone gets all sassy and judgmental. I know how to make carrot bread. Everybody needs to get out of this kitchen so I can work.”
Kallan is all tragic as I lead her away, “But I want there to actually be carrot bread!”
Hee hee!
I sit down at my computer and type happily for perhaps two minutes, and then I hear the sound of chopping. Only it’s an odd chopping, because every sound of the blade cutting through carrot is followed by EEEEEEEK!
Chop EEEEEEEK! Chop EEEEEEEK! Chop EEEEEEEK!
“Everything alright up there, Maj?”
“The knife is too sharp . . . Chop EEEEEEEK! . . . and the carrots are rolling . . . Chop EEEEEEEK! . . . and how small am I supposed to cut them, anyway? Chop EEEEEEEK! Chop EEEEEEEK!”
“Cut them into pieces the blender can handle.”
“MOTHER, THAT IS THE MOST UNHELPFUL HELP IN THE HISTORY OF HELP!”
Chop EEEEEEEK! Chop EEEEEEEK!
“Maj, could you stop screaming every time you chop? You are freaking me out.”
“How do you think I feel? My fingers are shuddering in horror that they will be sacrificed in the name of bread.”
I head up into the kitchen, “You want me to cut the carrots for you?”
“YES! Thank you, Mother.” She climbs up on the counter to look for the sugar and takes down the empty container, “OH, GREAT! START ME ON A PROJECT THAT IS DOOMED TO FAILURE! WE HAVE NO SUGAR!”
I don’t look up from the carrots, “There’s a new bag of sugar up in the cupboard.”
“NO THERE IS NOT I HAVE LOOKED EVERYWHERE I THINK I WOULD KNOW IF THERE WAS A GIANT BAG OF SUGAR STARING AT ME I AM NOT SO STUPID THAT I WOULD MISS A HUGE BAG OF SUGAR WE HAVE NO SUGAR AND I AM A COOK WITHOUT SWEETNESS THAT IS NOT FUNNY MOTHER!”
I lean over and point, “There, Maj. Right there in front of you.”
She takes down the bag, “Why didn’t you say so?”
I finish cutting the carrots and stand watching Maj for a moment.
She glares at me, “You have nothing better to do than supervise your completely capable daughter?”
“OK, but before I go, two things.”
“YOU ARE ANNOYING ME WITH THIS CONSTANT INTERFERENCE!”
“First, you need to preheat the oven.”
“I KNOW THAT!”
“And second, you need to trade the olive oil for the canola oil. Olive oil will not work in carrot bread; it will taste funny.”
“IT SAYS VEGETABLE OIL! HOW IS A CANOLA ANY MORE A VEGETABLE THAN AN OLIVE? LEAVE, MOTHER! LEAVE THIS KITCHEN IMMEDIATELY! YOUR LACK OF CONFIDENCE IS WILTING ME!”
“Alright, alright.”
I go back to my computer.
“MOTHER, WHAT IS A LOAF PAN? TELL KALLAN TO STOP LAUGHING I AM ASKING A SIMPLE QUESTION AND I WOULD JUST LIKE AN ANSWER!”
“Maj?”
“Yes, Mother?”
“Are you looking at all of our pans?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Is there one that calls loaf to you?”
“I HATE THAT KIND OF HELP! SOMEBODY GET IN HERE AND INTRODUCE ME TO THE LOAF PAN!”
Giggling hysterically, Kallan makes the proper introductions.
I finish typing an email and hit send.
“MOTHER, THE TOP TO THE BLENDER DOES NOT FIT NO MATTER HOW I TRY TO GET IT TO FIT.”
“Just turn it until it fits, Maj.”
“IT DOES NOT FIT ANY WAY. I HAVE TRIED ALL THE WAYS! I HAVE TRIED ALL THE WAYS AND THERE IS NO WAY THIS TOP WILL FIT.”
“Are you sure you have the right top?”
“WHY DO YOU ASK ME SUCH RIDICULOUS QUESTIONS? OF COURSE I HAVE THE RIGHT TOP! THEY SHOULD NOT MAKE BLENDER TOPS A PUZZLE, MOTHER! IT SHOULD JUST FIT RIGHT ON SO PEOPLE CAN BLEND THINGS!”
“OK, Maj?”
“WHAT?”
“The top is a square.”
“WHAT ON EARTH IS YOUR POINT, MOTHER?”
“My point is that the top will go on in any of four possible ways. There is no way to get it wrong.”
“HOW CAN YOU SAY THERE IS NO WAY TO GET IT WRONG WHEN I AM UP HERE . . . GETTING IT WRONG! THAT IS SO ANNOYING THAT YOU ACT LIKE THERE IS NOT A PROBLEM OF FIT THERE IS SOOOO A PROBLEM OF FIT BECAUSE IF THE TOP JUST WENT ON WHEN YOU LINED IT UP I WOULD NOT BE ASKING FOR . . . OH . . . NEVER MIND, MOTHER!”
“Yay for problem-solving skills!”
“THERE IS NO NEED FOR SARCASM, MOTHER.”
I type for a few seconds.
RRRRRRRRRRR
RRRRRRRRRRRRRR
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
“Maj?”
“WHAT, MOTHER?”
“That does not sound right. Why does the blender sound like that?”
“WHY MUST YOU DOUBT MY EVERY MOVE?”
RRRRRRRR.
RRR
RR
R
“MOTHER! THERE APPEARS TO BE A PROBLEM WITH THE BLENDER!”
I head up into the kitchen.
Maj gestures frustratedly at the blender, “OK SO I WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO PUT THE DRY INGREDIENTS IN THE BLENDER APPARENTLY ONLY THE WET INGREDIENTS BUT SOMEONE NEEDS TO TALK TO THE PERSON WHO WROTE THIS RECIPE BECAUSE THERE WAS NO WAY FOR ME TO HAVE KNOWN ABOUT THE SEPARATE BOWL THING EXCEPT NOW SOMEHOW WHEN I LOOK AT THE WORDS I SEE THE PART ABOUT SEPARATE BOWLS BUT I DON’T THINK THOSE WORDS WERE THERE THE FIRST TIME I READ THE RECIPE.”
I take out a spoon and start smashing the mixture together within the blender.
“AND SO NOW THE DRY INGREDIENTS ARE BLENDER BALKING AND THE BLENDER ITSELF SEEMS DETERMINED TO TELL ON ME FOR NOT FOLLOWING DIRECTIONS IT JUST KEEPS RRRR’ING AT ME LIKE IT IS GROWLING AND THEN IT SMELLED BAD AND SO WHAT DO I DO NOW?”
I hit “Chop” a few times in short bursts to get the blades spinning in the mixture.
Maj shakes the recipe in my face, “Really, Mother? It says nothing here about “chopping.” You are playing fast and loose with this carrot bread’s eventual success.”
Snort!
“THIS IS NOT A LAUGHING MATTER, MOTHER. EVERYTHING IS THIS LIFE OF YOURS IS NOT ABOUT AN LOL. WAY TO MOCK-PARENT, MOTHER.”
I laugh hysterically and pour the mixture into the greased loaf pan.
Maj turns to the oven and presses some buttons, “375 . . . there. How long do you think it will take for the oven to preheat?”
I stare at her and then burst into laughter again, “You didn’t preheat the oven??”
Maj glares at me, her hands on her hips, “WAY TO GO, MOTHER. LOL YOUR FOOL HEAD RIGHT OFF! WAY TO MAKE ME FEEL SUCCESSFUL AT THIS COOKING THING! I AM ALL IN AWE OF YOUR MOCK-PARENTING!”
Oh . . . my . . . god.
The carrot bread was delicious, by the way.
Olive oil adds an interesting flavor.
Hee hee!
