This morning, while feeding children and dogs, I popped a piece of toast into the toaster for myself. I did this with rank and unfounded optimism. Yet, I felt, my new strategy gave me a chance at getting hot toast. I set the toaster to 3, which is "barely warm." This is Opportunity #1 to get hot toast.
Didn't make it. The baby needed her strawberries minced up, and He'en was frittering around with her egg and needed a timer set in order to finish it. So passed Opportunity #1.
After getting the baby washed up and settled, and He'en dispatched upstairs for preschool clothing, I punched the same slice down again and hit the toaster button again for Opportunity #2. This would produce reheated golden crispy toast but it's better than no toast. It might even be hot.
But the baby took off climbing the stairs, and the kids' dishes had to be rinsed in the sink, and by the time I made it back, the toast was indeed golden-brown but stone cold. So passed Opportunity #2.
I had just retrieved the baby and was checking the go-bag for He'en's preschool (field trip money, show-and-tell item, change of clothing, coat-hat-gloves in case it was cold, extra shoes in case they got wet) when DH breezed down to the kitchen freshly showered and cheerful. He had finished his morning round of phone calls and was ready to attack the breakfast part of his morning.
"Are you going to eat that?" he asked, espying the golden slice still in the toaster.
"Nope, go right ahead," I sighed, scraping minced strawberry off my arm. It is foolish to resent somebody for having a shower and smelling good. There is no reason to be small and deny him a perfectly good piece of toast. So passed Opportunity #3. Exit the golden-brown slice of toast.
But! He'en had eaten only half of *her* toast slice. Aha! There was still some toast in the kitchen. It, too, was stone-cold, but it was toast, so I headed for that. I cut the piece in half and set it aside for a scrape of peanut butter from the almost-empty jar that I could not bear to throw away with a teaspoon of peanut butter still inside.
But then He'en needed her teeth brushed and decided, in the middle of hair-brushing, to rub a washcloth all over her head and then hide under it. So passed Opportunity #4.
"Fine, brush your hair yourself," I said to the washcloth.
"Noooo!" the washcloth screamed. Then the washcloth was thrown across the bathroom, which resulted in a wild-haired Time Out, category Attitude.
During the false lull of Time Out, I hitched the baby up on my hip and headed for the kitchen for my quarter-piece of stone-cold leftover kid toast. Mmmm.
But the quarter-piece was gone from the cutting board. I looked around the kitchen and saw it nowhere. The dog, however, had incriminating crumbs in her whiskers and was cheerfully snarfing an extra drink of water. So passed Opportunity #5.
I am not sure why the dog took one quarter-piece and left the other. But the other was still there. At last, I was able to smear a teaspoon of peanut butter scraped from the bottom of the jar onto the quarter-piece of stone-cold leftover kid toast that had been rejected or overlooked by the dog. Yum.
Clearly it was a Mama who coined the phrase, "You're toast." Yes. Yes, I am.