A Moment of Inattention

Last night I took a break from dinner prep to feed Mr. Fussy-pants Jack. I sank into the recliner and flipped on the TV to 30 Minute Meals. I watched as Rachael Ray forked open her English muffins and put them on a baking sheet, joking about how she often burns bread in the broiler from not paying close attention. Boy, this sounds silly in writing, but I was getting caught up in the show and forgetting my own surroundings for a minute. Suddenly the piercing shriek of the smoke alarm jolted me back to reality. I was confused at first, but then remembered the tortillas I had toasting in the oven.
I threw the smoking mess on the grass. Apparently even the cat wouldn't eat them, since I took this picture the next day.

Scrap Denim Rug

Someone in our family went wee-wee all over our bathroom rug. Then someone's brother went wee-wee on the rug in his room. So, it was time to wash throw rugs.

Then when I was gone for the evening, my kind and gracious husband, seeing something that needed to be done, moved the clean rugs from the washer to the dryer. (He didn't know I was planning to hang them on the line.) So now Owen has a poodle rug in his room.

Scorched Oak

It's not a secret. My kitchen table isn't really "me," and it never has been. We got a great deal on it when a friend replaced her dining set. We were very glad to get rid of the flimsy glit-wood table and chairs we had been borrowing since we got married. The chairs had suffered long enough, and we had to reinforce at least one when it umm, flew off the back of Jason's truck while we were moving from our first house to our second. They were the type of chairs that create quick moves to the living room after a meal is finished, not lending themselves to lingering over courses. Of course, this would take the form of polite suggestion to our company, "There's no reason we can't move to the living room and be a little more comfortable!" or "Wouldn't you love to see our plaid couch?"


Back to the oak set with the press-back chairs. We decided to snatch up the bargain, since our dream table was still only a dream. And, we thought, while we have a house full of young children, we wanted a table that could take a beating without us cringing.

Last night, the table took a beating, or a scorching rather. I was in too big of a hurry to grab a potholder, and so I threw down the rather damp towel I had been using to wipe my hands. When I cleared the pizza stone from the table, I found this:
I should have thought of it. When my oven mitt is wet, heat from the oven goes right through it and my fingers get toasted.


So what do I do? Ignore? Add more scorch marks? Refinish? Paint? If paint, what color? It's an oak pedestal table with one extra leaf. The sides of the table have that oak leaf/acorn carving detail that serves as the perfect receptacle for all the smeary grime from little hands. And by the way, I have tried to care about this table. I even make Owen use a placemat when he plays with playdough!


On a happier note, my clematis is doing better this year than last: