I was really pleased with myself the other night. It was the evening of our 21st wedding anniversary and I had one of my favourite dinners all ready to serve. I was pretty chuffed that I’d even prepared dessert – the default option in our family is usually fruit, yoghurt, or hoping that the little wombats don’t ask!
My acrobatic Wombat was at gym, littlest Wombat was vegging in front of the TV and train fanatic Wombat was doing train-fanatic things. I even had Dancing Wombat daughter all set to leave the house to walk the dog, once more bowing to the tyranny of the pedometer. The lamb shanks were well and truly cooked, so I took the pot out of the oven to let the contents could cool down slightly. As a precaution, I left the two oven mitts over the pot’s handles, and draped the hand-towel over the top. Past experience had taught me that hot things don’t always look hot, and I didn’t want anyone to burn themselves accidentally. As I mentioned, past experience…!
My daughter walked to the oven to check the time on the clock, and caught sight of the oven mitts over the handles.
“They need to go away,” she said.
“Yes, but not just yet,” I answered. “I’m keeping them there for now, so no-one burns themselves.”
She became agitated. “But they need to go back in the drawer!”
“Yes, and they will. But not yet, sweetheart. Off you go, it’s time for your walk with Morgan. Before
it gets dark!”
She didn’t take the hint. The excuses started.
“I don’t feel well. My leg hurts.”
Great. So much for my nicely-laid plans.
“That’s funny. They weren’t hurting a minute ago when dinner was in the oven. You’ll be fine”
“But I don’t feel good. My leg hurts. And my arm hurts too.”
This is a well-used tactic and it worries me, lest one day something really does hurt, and I won’t believe her.
“Come on,” I urge. “They’re just pot holders. You don’t need to worry about them.”
“But I won’t be able to use them,” she protests, starting now to get teary.
Brother. How can you get upset over oven mitts? Clearly, it’s possible.
Then I realised, she wanted to get the pears out of the oven by herself when they were cooked.
Okay, great – it’s good practice. And naturally, she needed the oven mitts.
“Oh, sweetheart, of course you’ll be able to use them. This pot will cool down soon and then you
can use them.”
“They need to go away.” She’s nothing if not insistent.
“Yes, okay, I’ll put them away and THEN you can get them out and use them to get dessert out of
the oven. Now, how about going for that walk?”
She was slightly mollified, but still not completely trusting that I would do as I had said. It took a lot
more persuasion to get her out of the house, and even then, I needed to walk past the first couple
of houses with her so I was assured she would actually get going. The offending oven mitts were nicely back in the drawer by the time she returned. Dinner was delicious and she managed beautifully taking the hot pears out of the oven.
But perhaps it’s time to invest in some more oven mitts. A small gesture which will save a lot of angst another time.
