Over Easy, Please

It was one of those days when I got things accomplished but it felt like I was spinning my wheels instead. I guess it's a good thing in the end, but I still feel as though the day was a wash. Maybe it was that disconcerting phone call I got early this morning that put the day in a funk. I hate those.

So after I got my sewing and housework done, I had plans to head outdoors to clear my head and relax for a bit. Gardening will do that for me. There's nothing like playing in dirt and prettying up the grounds to make the world right again. But just as I got my shoes on, I heard Micah come in the door. How on earth it got to be mid afternoon was beyond me, but there it was. I dug through his bookbag, asked how his day was, shuffled some laundry (because his swim gear needed washed from gym class), and then Micah asked me to make him some eggs and bacon.

Let's reference that thing where my day was in a weird funk, okay? I started with the bacon and eggs, and got as far as putting the frying pan on the stove and having Micah set out an egg and getting the bacon out of the fridge. And then something shiny caught my attention and somehow the whole idea of cooking was abandoned.

The next thing I know, I'm outside trying to fire up the weed eater, and Micah came out asking for help getting the new package of bacon open. Envision me tossing that weed eater over my shoulder and running full tilt to the house, because that's pretty much what happened.

People, the boy fried himself an egg. I have no recollection of putting an egg in the skillet before I was distracted and headed outdoors, and my thought process had decided on frying the bacon first so I didn't have to use butter in the skillet to fry the egg with. But there was an egg frying. There were no egg shells in the pan, but in the trash instead. The egg was rather scrambled looking and spread thin, and the bottom was in danger of burning, but it was a fried egg. A chair was pulled up to the cabinet where the Pam cooking spray was kept, and the Pam was by the skillet on the counter. He's watched me fry enough eggs for him to know the drill, and apparently he has the skills to do it himself. And pretty well at that.

But people, THE BOY FRIED HIMSELF AN EGG. I should be about thirteen shades of proud over that accomplishment, but all I can think is that we narrowly avoided a disaster of epic proportions. Maybe tomorrow I'll get over the shock of the thing and see it for the great thing that it is. But then again, maybe not.