So, when we bought this house, the oven/stove came with it. It's this ginormous monstrosity, with six gas burners, a griddle, and double-oven, with a range hood as big as a Buick attached to the wall above. While I certainly have images of me being all Paula-Deen-ish, and whipping up nine-course gourmet meals for my family .... the truth is .... well, I *do* use it. I actually use it a lot, because I like to cook, but I'm no Paula Deen. Or Rachel Ray. Or whoever else from HGTV floats your boat.
Another difference I noticed on this oven, from my last oven, is that because it is gas, there is no digital display or timer letting me know when the oven has finished pre-heating. Not that it's a big deal, really. I just sort of assume it takes about ten minutes to pre-heat an oven. Or I could use my brother-in-laws rule of thumb, which is to turn on the oven, immediately stick in whatever you're cooking, and just add five minute to the total bake time. No-one in his family had died from food poisoning yet, so it must work. But I was a little surprised that a jumbo-mongo-cooking-machine like we inherited didn't even have a display to tell me when it was ready to go.
We moved into this house last November --- last week I noticed there is a light on the front of the oven next to the word "Heating" ... and apparently, the light is on when the oven is pre-heating, and when the light goes off, that means the oven has reached the temperature you need.
Huh. Well, what do you know?
I started to do a post about how I'm not smart enough to work my oven, but figured really, do I want to brag to the Internet about what a moron I am?? (Well, more than I've bragged already?) So I just let it go.
But this week, with Blaine home sick, that means I've been doing his share of the household chores as well. Again, not a big deal, except for our agreement that I cook, he cleans up. I cannot STAND doing dishes or cleaning the kitchen after dinner each night. I'm happy to plan the meals, buy the food, and cook the meals .... but I despise cleaning up afterwards. Thankfully, Blaine doesn't mind cleaning the kitchen, so that's been our arrangement our entire marriage.
The first night he was sick I loaded the dishwasher and ran it. The next evening, Kendrie unloaded the dishwasher (thank goodness school has started up again and so have our chore charts!) and I noticed as she was putting away the glasses that several of them didn't look clean. Then I noticed the pan I had used to brown hamburger meat was DEFINITELY not clean. I *knew* I had run the dishwasher, and filled the soap dispenser up to the brim. What on earth???
I started hollering at Blaine from the kitchen, "What is wrong with this stupid dishwasher??? None of our dishes are clean!" And Blaine, who was lying on the bathroom floor in his "just shoot me and put me out of my misery" fetal position, wondered what terrible thing he must have done in a former life to wind up with a wife so unsympathetic that not only did she not bring him Sprite, not only was she resentful that he was staying home the next day and ruining her first-day-of-school-peace and quiet, but a wife who manages to rant and rave about having to clean the kitchen because he was too sick to do so himself.
This morning, I got ready to re-load the dishwasher. I noticed the soap dispenser was stuck closed, and once again the a-ha lightbulb went on over my head. "Blaine ...." I yelled, still not appreciating his nauseous position on the sofa, "Hey, I figured out what was wrong with the dishwasher and why none of the dishes were clean. Apparently the soap dispenser jammed or something and it didn't open."
And there was a pause from the living room, and then I heard his weak, sick little voice reply .... "The soap dispenser in that dishwasher isn't supposed to open. You're supposed to leave it open every cycle."
Now it makes sense.
So, do you think before long he will realize that sick or no, he needs to get up off the sofa and help out around here before I bring the house down around our heads with my ineptitude???