These are fries. As you can tell, they are very burnt fries. Not only are they [very burnt] fries, but they are a physical manifestation of the fact that nobody really listens to me.
Let me tell you a story of how the burnt fries came to be….
Last night, I was starting dinner. I wanted to make spaghetti with garlic bread, but couldn’t reach towards the back of the oven to get the fries that had fallen though the element ventalation some time before. I asked Matt to help me out.
“There are fries at the back of the oven that I can’t reach. Can you get them? I want to make garlic bread,” I asked.
“Ya sure, in a minute,” Matt, who was busy playing hot wheels tracks with the kids, said.
I went into the kitchen to continue cleaning and prepping. I called Matt and asked him to come grab the fries from the oven so I could get this cooking business started. Matt came in and started helping me, he placed the ground beef on the stove while I prepped the sauces. I turned around to see Matt carefully lining up fries on a baking sheet.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Putting fries in the oven like you said to…”
“Oh no, oh no no no! That is NOT what I said!” I panicked, running over to the stove to turn off the oven, which was already preheating. Of course, it was too late for the fries – they were already charred and smoking.
“I thought you wanted to make fries!” He shrugged, looking sheepish as he opened the door to air out our now smokey kitchen.
“Why would I want to make fries when I’m making spaghetti?”
“I don’t know, for the kids?” He knew his argument was pointless, so he apologized and we laughed it off, but the burnt fries (and the toys that do not remain in the playroom despite my frequent requests to the children to keep the toys in the playroom) are just indictors that nobody really listens to me.
I don’t know if it’s my voice, the pitch or whatever, that has all three of these boys blinking whenever the words come out of my mouth, at least when it’s instructions, directions and requests.