Pride Comes Before a Fall

I have little failures every day, but every once in a while, I fail spectacularly.

The other night, I was rushing out the door to go to my last writing group meeting. I was looking forward to saying goodbye to the wonderful women I've been writing with for the last few months, and excited to have our pens flow simultaneously one last time. But I didn't want to leave dinner in the hands of the babysitter, didn't want to ask her to heat up some chicken nuggets or boil some pasta.

So I decided to grind some hamburgers for the kids from some chuck I'd bought at the supermarket for just that purpose. I had less than 20 minutes, but I felt fueled with energy, confident that I could pull off a great meal and still get to my meeting in time.

I pulled out my KitchenAid grinder attachment and began feeding in the meat, hypnotized, as usual, by the dark pink soft ribbons of meat falling into the bowl. They looked so good, so fresh, and I felt like the greatest mom in the world. I could already hear the children's cries of appreciation as they bit into the burgers, their thanks for being the best cook in the entire world.

I got so excited with these visions, that I seasoned the meat with gusto. I threw in some Parmesan, some seasoned salt, and some Kosher salt. When I poured the salt, my wrist had a little too much momentum, and a little too much fell in, but I decided to let it go. After all, I was running out of time.

A few minutes later, the patties were sizzling on the hot pan. The kitchen filled with the smell of grilling meat and the kids came running, wondering what smelled so good. I checked the clock; I had five minutes to leave. Perfect.

I sat at the table with the kids, and plunged a fork into my burger. Just as I forked it into my mouth, I spied Bella's confused face across the table and her eyes tearing up. "Mommy - these burgers taste really spicy! What did you put in them?" My taste buds caught up with Bella's and I felt the sear of salt on my tongue. The meat was inedible, so unbearably salty that even dousing it in Ketchup didn't help. The kids begged me not to make them eat them. They looked at me with pleading eyes and quivering lips, and begged to be allowed to throw them out.

In the end, I had to turn the dinner over to my capable babysitter. I don't know if the kids ended up with chicken nuggets or pasta. I do know that they were still laughing about the most disgusting burgers ever made the next morning after breakfast.