There’s been a lot of talk on social media lately about false perfection and people only sharing the highlights of their day. I’d like to think that between my blog and Facebook statuses I keep it pretty real – take for example last week’s status update about how I cooked pork chops like steaks and they turned out overcooked – and tonight’s post that you’re about to read.
I was feeling uncharacteristically domestic this evening (after all, I’d just cleaned the bathroom AND heated up frozen risotto for dinner) when I spontaneously decided to whip up a snack cake for dessert. That’s actually what the recipe is called – and it’s delicious (Mike and I have made it before) – I’ll post it next time…
when if it turns out right.
The snack cake is relatively simple to make from scratch, so I was flying through… I even caught myself almost adding a Tbsp of baking soda instead of a tsp. Phew, it was a close call, so close in fact that I didn’t realize that my new measuring spoons had a half Tbsp spoon next to the Tbsp. Which you can deduce meant that I added a half Tbsp into the bowl.
I remembered what I learned the last time that I over did it with the baking soda (banana carrot muffins anyone?) and decided to save the recipe by multiplying all of the ingredients by 1.5. After putting the cake into the oven (with a pan on the rack below in case it overflowed – trying to foresee any potential road blocks to my being able to enjoy that cake) I was feeling pretty good about myself.
That is until the timer went off… and this happened:
As if that wasn’t devastating enough, Mike walks into the kitchen and the first words out of his mouth were “I’m not going to say that I told you that the baking time would be altered when you increased the recipe size.” Tired and feeling let down by my husband and the lack of eatible cake, there was nothing left to do but to shed a few tears in the other room (okay more than a few… this wasn’t ‘spilt milk’ after all).
Mike and I sat down to talk about why I was upset (aside from the obvious… the cake dripping into parts of my oven that I still have no clue how I’m going to clean – I unsuccessfully tried suggesting that a new oven might be the best way to ensure a proper clean). I was disappointed that he’d said I told you so to me. No matter how many times I’ve had the opportunity to say that to him – I never have. It’s unnecessary – I obviously knew by the liquid cake on the floor that he was right about the baking time. He understood, apologized and we agreed that going forward that phrase has no place in our relationship.
If only this post ended there with “and then we cuddled with Luke on the couch while catching up on last week’s episode of Last Man Standing.”
After accepting the lack of cake that my evening would hold, I went to move the laundry along when I noticed that the clothes in the washing machine were soaking wet/the drum didn’t drain all the way. I didn’t think anything of it and just left the few really wet pieces in the washer while I added the next load to it and pressed start. Suddenly I happened to glance over at the wash sink and noticed that it didn’t drain and was about to overflow! Thankfully I was able to stop the wash cycle before mopping became a part of my evening.
I blindly reached into the cloudy-with-lint water and pulled out what turned out to be a sponge that was covering the drain. That’s when I noticed that the lint trap was incredibly full. I discarded the old trap only to discover that we had no new traps to replace it with, just an empty lint trap container. I reluctantly sacrificed a pair of tights (that I liked – I don’t have any tights that I don’t like) to make a temporary lint trap. As I turned to go upstairs to put my pajamas on, I heard Mike say “hey, look what I found!” He’d been digging around a shelf with laundry stuff that the previous owner left behind and found a box of lint traps. My tights were cut up for nothing. My emotions were the cake all over again. To be fair, I’d been working on stamps and cleaning all day and my cake was just batter-covered paper towels in the trash can – the unnecessarily mangled tights were the icing on the nonexistent cake.