As I started sautéing, little unfortunate events continued to roll forward and I realized that with every setback, a new ingredient fell into the pan.
The girls left the back door open and an army of flies swarmed in. Defeated the army in a frenzied fly-swatting annihilation and sent the girls retreating to their room.
Diced potatoes, garlic, in the pan.
My son dropped a water bottle all over the kitchen floor. Before he dropped a dish of chicken food all over the kitchen floor.
Rosemary would be a nice touch. In the pan.
Husband is trying to use the vacuum, the vacuum isn't working. We all know what that's like.
Oregano, grumbling/whining, in the pan.
Blood-curdling screams from a back bedroom, rushing back there (oregano still in hand) to find my son rolling around on the floor in agony. No worries, just a foot cramp for him. And a heart attack for me.
Diced dried apricots. Makes no sense. THROW THEM IN THE PAN.
Soon, there was this really amazing aroma rising from the kitchen. And that cluster of (small, could-be-so-much-worse) incidents in that short span of cooking time seemed to dissipate with the steam.
A sigh of relief.
Blueberries as the side dish.
We gather in the kitchen.
The close of the day is sometimes rushed and stressful. We have had our fair share of those evenings. But sometimes, it's a reclamation of unity. A redemptive and collective "amen" at the end of the day, especially a day like today where we were just short of tripping over our own feet. Sometimes a family dinner is a miracle itself, or maybe a family dinner is always a miracle, and only some days we actually realize it. Especially a hash, where our five plates are filled from one single pan. Reclamation.
Either way, I'll take it.
Have a lovely day.