Ring of Fire

Some people say that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. If that's true, I bet there's a pit stop at a hospital first.

I had good intentions. All I wanted to do was make Tim a special dinner for finally accomplishing one of his long-term ('bout 6 years long) financial goals. I was so proud of him for disciplining himself and keepin' the faith that things would work out. I decided I would make him a dinner featuring anything he wanted. Tim, of course, thought up the most unhealthy combination his heart could probably endure: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, homemade macaroni and cheese, and apple pie.

A deal's a deal, so Monday morning I went grocery shopping. A few people had said they might be able watch Rain for me while I cooked, but neither panned out. I didn't think it was a problem since I've cooked plenty of meals since she was born. True, this menu required more hours of work than normal, but I was happy to cook whatever Tim wanted.

The factor I didn't calculate into the mix was that Rain had a day-long teething bout. While we were in the checkout line at the grocery store, she fell apart. The cashier did everything she could to get us out of the store ASAP (I tried not to blush as another cashier came over to help unload my cart for me in an effort to hurry things along). Rain wailed until I was able to put Orajel on her gums. Even then, she whimpered until she fell asleep. When she awoke, she cried again. This went on the entire time I tried to boil potatoes, stir sauce, roll out the pie crust, etc. I wanted to put her in her soft carrier, so she could hang from my chest while I worked. I had the tiniest worry, however, that if anything should happen ... well, I decided to lay her on a blankie near the entrance to the kitchen. Rain wanted no part of this arrangement. After three hours, I had a headache, was merely halfway done, and was doing headstands to settle Rain down.

But. I could not--I would not--allow my exasperation to ruin Tim's special dinner. I was so proud, after all, and I really wanted to show it. Ten minutes before Tim came home from work, I was nearly done. The macaroni was warming in the oven, potatoes sat in a happy pile in a pot, and a fresh-baked apple pie cooled nearby. It was a Martha moment as I dipped my chicken in buttermilk, happy to finally be in the home stretch.

I should say that (1) because of Tim's cholesterol, I fry food about once a year, seriously, and (2) I'd forgotten some of the precautions necessary when frying food. I grabbed a chicken thigh with my tongs and flipped it over to cook the other side. Pop! Grease flew from the pan towards me. Without a splatter guard, lid, or even a towel to protect me, it splattered on my face and onto the floor.

I was stunned. It took three or four seconds to realize what happened. I grabbed a towel and covered my face. The next ten seconds I spent thinking the burning would pass. Um, no. I ran to the phone and called Tim, saying, "I burned my face with grease! I can't think. What am I supposed to do??" Tim, thankfully, was only two minutes away. When he came in, it was a scene from Steel Magnolias: baby crying on the floor, and mommy nowhere in sight. I was washing my face in the bathroom and crying. In the mirror I could see red splotches, and they hurt worse than they looked.

We applied and reapplied loads of medicated aloe vera. I kept a cool, moist towel on my face the rest of the night. The pain made my eyes water, but mainly, I was sad that I totally ruined Tim's special occasion. I was mad that I messed it up, and mad, in a way, that I didn't manage Rain and what I was trying to do in a workable way. I just wanted it to be like it was before, when Life seemed more ... manageable. Rain's crying wasn't at fault; she couldn't help it, after all. It was that I didn't know how to overcome all the distractions to be safe. Tim told me again and again that the dinner didn't matter as long as I was OK, but I was still disappointed.

As of today, I have a burn mark over my eyelid, and a few splatter marks that are still healing. The one great, wonderful blessing I think about at times is this: how terrible would that day have been if, when the hot grease splattered everywhere, Rain was hanging in front of me?