I thought I was done laughing at myself, for this week, at least.

NOT SO, little grasshopper legs.

The stove, she has other plans in store for me.

At the beginning of the year, TP (teaching partner) and I signed up for the last breakfast month, thinking that it would be the end of the year, and that we would have PLENTY of time to plan. Well, next year I’ll be signing up for September so that I can get it over with and not worry about it. We have dinners to cook for and attend, award ceremonies, articles to write, graduations to go to. May is a busy month. I’m a little stressed. When I’m not laughing at my lunacy.  Also, remember that I was the girl who was reduced to tears in front of a teaching staff of 100 by soggy egg rolls. That’s *ME*! Cooking is my thing. I can follow a recipe. I cannot bake.

After TP and I dragged ourselves off campus yesterday (we shopped for the yogurt parfait breakfast, volunteered for yearbook duty, AND TAUGHT – shew!), I went home to bake my muffins. Dh had offered to make scones, because he often has to bail me out of these culinarily themed crises, BUT he wasn’t there, so BAKE I SHALL, I decided.

After opening the cupboard, I realized that we only had 1 WEIRD muffin tin, that did me wrong last time I tried to do something nice for The Dude’s teachers. Muffins are nice, but not if they will send you to the dentist, screaming in pain.

What should I do? I asked The Dude, because I am completely incapable of making a decision by myself. Should I try and make them into a bread tin (the blueberry muffins I had settled on)? Or make 6 at a time only? Or should I go downtown and look for more muffin tins? M’mmm…he teenagered at me. He then offered to go downtown for me (he is the sweetest), but I decided to go by myself. He offered me his  bike, because of the basket, and asked me to grab him some beverages. As I type this, I realize what a thoughtful kid he is and am kind of amazed. I will miss him over the summer. ANY WAY.

I start pedaling and think, “This is cranky. It sounds like grinding.” I look down to see that there is a bungee cord tangled in the bike gears. YAY! I’m not in a hurry! TD sees me hanging over the side of his bike, hands full of grease and comes and untangles me. TD = 2. Stepdamsel in distress = 0.

I make it down to the store without any more mishaps. Hallelujah. They have muffin tins, oh miracle of miracles! I am ECSTATIC at this point. I buy two and td’s diet coke and pedal happily toward our home sweet home.

Upon my arrival, td has made himself scarce (smart boy), so I enlist the help of another friend and her kid. Because SHE CAN COOK! We mix and muffin and put them in the oven. And then, smoke starts coming out of the top, but I don’t panic. Not not me, the bastion of calm in my sea of calamity. Yeah, I don’t know if that makes sense, but I know what I mean, and I LIKE the way it sounds. So there.

15 minutes later, the muffins are smoking like a high school kid 5 minutes before the bell rings, and I’m a little worried. So I looked at them. They looked LOVELY! And DELICIOUS! and gold brown, so I pushed those worries right out of my pretty little head, and waited for the timer.

Batchmaker, Batchmaker, Bake me a batch. Guess what? They were ALL BLACK on the bottom. Awesome. Nearly at the end of my rope this time, because HEY! I am TIRED! and I have to be at HIP HOP in 15 minutes! I begged dh to bail me out. Everything he does in the kitchen is gold. Which is not fair, but such is life.

Was karma done screwing me? NO. He no sooner had the muffins in the oven then the power went out. This was one of those days when I eyed my stove, steadying myself for a brawl and then decided to do what I do best: WALK AWAY. I know when I’m up against a better opponent. Homie don’t play that.

Next year?

1 word.

CATERING.