Another day of misadventures, fumbles and disasters as a Do-It-Yourself kind of dad takes on more than I can chew.
[did I just mess up that analogy? figures]
Tonight after I got home from work Erica ran to the rec (training so she can get out of dishes for two weeks) and so I attempted to make dinner. If you have read this blog before you know this was disaster number one waiting to happen. I should have done something out of the ‘A Man, A Can, and a Plan’ cookbook that my bestest friends ever gave me for Christmas last year, but this was not a premeditated food-slaughter I only had chicken to work with. I added some random spices and seasonings (not really, I smelled them before adding them as a kind of homemade dry rub) and then got the grill out even though it was raining. This goes against every ounce of my being. I love my grill and I seek to protect it with my life, but my lack of culinary skills in the kitchen drove me to roast this bird outside somehow.
In between getting dinner together I also attempted to keep the kids occupied. I achieved this delicate balancing act by creating a makeshift ball game using a Thomas pop up tent, the couch, and every toy ball imaginable. Kids love things in excess. One ball is fun, but ten balls are better! Plus, introducing multiple toys reduces the risk that they will be drawn to the same ones and fight over who gets to play with it.
Ball game under way, I turned my attention back to the grilled chicken salads that were coming to reality. I felt a little embarrassed that I had to do a Google search for how to make hard boiled eggs. But I wanted to make sure I did it right. Turns out I should have Googled a few more things, like those seasonings I added to the chicken, or wether or not Olive oil is a good substitute for vegetable oil on the grill. (Olive oil seems to be more flammable…)
I thought I had it all under control until the last four crucial minutes when I dashed inside to handle some domestic dispute between my children just after moving the chicken into the hot spot on the grill. The conclusion, it doesn’t matter how much salad dressing you pour on badly seasoned burnt chicken, it still leads to eating cereal and Twizzlers at 11:00 at night.
Oh, and just one other small mental note…no more tomatoes for Ella. Apparently she REALLY doesn’t like the texture of those. Ugh, I can’t even type it.
What can I ruin tomorrow?
Here’s some photos that hopefully redeem me…