Warning: this story involves a child going to the ER...
I've been working alot of hours lately. Between that and the onset of cooler weather, I have broken out the old crock pot. This morning, for the first time in several years, I tossed into it...a pot roast. Yes, the standard, fallback recipe for a cheap cut of beef in suburbia. Technically, the last pot roast I made was in my high tech, digital pressure cooker....which also has not been used in several years. And here's why...
There was a time when Paul, my now 13 1/2 year old, could not sit still. Like most young boys, he was always moving. Even while he was talking to me, he was moving as if he had ants in his pants. I thought maybe something was wrong with him for awhile there, but upon hearing the same stories from mom's all around me, I realized he was just a typical boy. Funny thing too, is that we haven't had too many accidents on skateboards, bikes or ice skates. Not TOO many. He's mellowed out alot, settling into the typical teenage late-sleeping, hood-over-the-eyes wearing behavior.
So, back to the evil pot roast. I had thrown it into the high tech pressure cooker. It probably took me longer to figure the damed thing out than it did to cook the meat. I had rice on the side and probably a vegetable in typical, square meal fashion. Everyone was sitting at the dining room table when I started coming with the hot pot of stewed meat in my hands. Paul was on the other side of the counter, bending down to pick up a dish cloth that he typically tossed up in the air and didn't catch...because waiting 30 seconds in his seat for dinner to arrive was just too much for him. That was when that surreal moment in time happened. The moment when your gut instinct sends you a warning signal and tells you to reverse your current path all in a micro second....but your brain simply does not send the signal to your muscles fast enough. As I walked toward the dining room, Paul rose from his bending position at lightening speed, his head forcefully knocking into the bottom of the pot in my hands like a soccer ball. My boiling hot creation dumped down his back. As my husband flew up from his chair I went into action, ripping Paul's shirt off without even thinking and running for the cold water. He was screaming, while his poor little brother sat terrified at the dinner table. After the screaming stopped, we surveyed the damage on his back and arm and decided that even though he was no longer in pain (amazingly), a trip to St. Luke's was in order. As I explained this incident to the doctor in the ER, he mentioned, "It says here he was here not that long ago for stitches?" Uhhh...yes...are you doing to call CPS on me now?
The happy ending to this story is that while the pot roast was lost, Paul's recovery was not bad at all. The blistering burns required about 2 weeks of attention, but caused him no pain at all. Kids are amazingly resilient and heal quickly. I think Jared was more traumatized than Paul was.
I'm not a superstitions person and I don't think I'm particularly dramatic, yet I have not cooked a pot roast since that night. Every time I pick one up in the grocery store, I just hesitate...and put it back. Silly.
But today's the day, folks. The evil meat is cooking as we speak. And ahhh!!! It's Friday the 13th! Oh no, it's only Thursday. Phew!!!
