Making Messes and Memories

I recently started a Sunday School class for our youth and young adults and so far I have such a sweet group. This past Sunday we talked about conflict, and specifically conflict where there is no right or wrong, just a difference of personalities or preferences. The story used from Scripture was of Mary and Martha. If you are not familiar with the story, Jesus brings His disciples to eat at the house of Mary and Martha, who happen to be sisters. Two sisters who happen to have different personalities it would seem. Martha is the one who, ironically, was the Martha Stewart. She took hospitality seriously and got really irritated with her sister, Mary, who just wanted to hang out and listen to Jesus. I'm sure Martha wanted to hang out and listen to Jesus, too, but y'all, stuff's gotta get done! I can honestly say that I always felt like a Mary, until I got married and had kids. Then I straight up became a Martha. Sometimes I can almost see myself in the kitchen with Martha, sighing, washing dishes as loudly as possible in frustration. Because, hello, do I have to do everything? The point of our lesson was that while often times we look down on Martha for being so concerned about physical things versus the spiritual act of spending time with Jesus, Jesus was actually very understanding and knew the customs and traditions about hospitality and how important they were. He basically told Martha, what you are doing is a good thing, but what Mary is doing is the best thing.

I tell you this to set up the story I'm about to tell you so that we can all just pretend that I'm like, really spiritual, instead of a raving lunatic. 'K?  

So, Friday when I went to pick the kids up from school I ran into a friend who was also picking up her kids and I asked if they had gotten all moved into their new house. She told me she was still painting and was actually on her way to do some painting right then. I looked at her 3 children and had PTSD flashbacks memories of painting experiences with our 3 kids and offered to let hers come home with me. My kids were thrilled. It was a win win for everyone. We went through the drive-thru at McDonald's. BTW, I stink at ordering food for 7 people, but we got our food and headed to the park. I knew that I had things I should be doing at my house, but I told myself I would have time later.  The kids played amazingly together and I got to sit on the swing and enjoy the weather. We stayed a little longer than I had planned and when it was time to leave Kate asked the kids, "Why do you want to go to our house? It's a mess."  Y'all. I have to get my life straight, because that child has no filter and no sense of, 'maybe we shouldn't share that.'

Anyway, it was definitely not as messy as it could have been. But, I was out of dish soap and the crock pot needed to be cleaned. I was just about to wipe it down when the doorbell rang. In a moment of panic, I put it in the oven. Desperate times call for desperate measures. And unfortunately, hospitality and desperation are two words that often go together for me. I just put that crock pot right in the oven, told myself to remember to get it out as soon as company left, and went about my merry way.

Fast forward to Monday night. My sister and her family came into town this past weekend and stayed on the beach so we spent all weekend driving over to visit with them. Did not cook a single meal. Until last night. We decided to make home made pizzas. I turned the oven on. I went about my business. I came back to the kitchen. It stunk. I kept thinking, 'did I spill something in there?'  'What was the last thing I had in the oven?' I honestly went for about 5 minutes letting it pre-heat while we fixed the pizzas. Then, Josh opened the oven door. The CROCKPOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh.my.word. If you could have seen the look my husband gave me. I panicked and screamed. He got oven mitts and pulled it out. And the oven rack that now had plastic melted on it. All I could do was  promise my husband that I was not purposefully trying to set the house on fire, even though I have threatened to if people don't learn where the trash can is or how to hang up a towel. 

Turning your oven on when you have things like crockpots in them is scary on several levels, none of which  in this case is the fact that I clearly had no memory of putting the crockpot in there. I mean honestly, at one point in the day I was cleaning the kitchen and actually thought to myself, 'Josh must have washed the crockpot and put it away'. At that point- did not remember it was in the oven. Then, I turn the oven on and it starts smelling like an electrical fire-still don't remember it's in there. Then, my husband opens the oven door and I am just as shocked it's in there as he is! Seriously. I need to be highly supervised at all times. 

We were both very serious about this whole situation for several minutes, most of those I'm sure Josh spent trying to figure out how the crockpot got in the oven?!?!? I was on the verge of tears and self hatred when I suddenly began laughing hysterically. Josh did, too. I explained what happened and he admitted he couldn't say anything because the knob on the crockpot was already melted from a previous experience in which he placed something too hot too close to it. At this point he started acting as if he was going to save the thing, when I pointed out the cord. Y'all. Do you remember the scene in "Christmas Vacation" when the whole tree goes up in flames and you see the power cord for the Christmas lights? Yep. That's what we had. And I was once again left pondering how many moments of my life remind me of scenes from that movie.

The moral of this story? There are so many. Like checking your oven before turning it on. Like, this is what happens when you don't cook a single meal for 3 days. Like, washing your dishes instead of hiding them. 

You probably want to judge me. You probably should. I prefer to think of my Friday morning that I spent blogging, watching Golden Girls, and swinging at the park as deeply spiritual. Yes, I could have brought the children home and washed my crockpot, but then we would have missed out on this creation.

This would be a snowman made out of sand in October. It's a Florida kid thing.

Maybe one day I will make progress in my domestic skills. Right now I'm just making memories. And not all of them are traumatic. :)