So I was headed out for a run. I'd be gone about 45 minutes, so I asked Mike to get dinner started while I was gone. Out the back door I went leaving everything in his capable hands. Forty-three minutes later I'm walking up the driveway and logging my run into my phone. I hit the back door and Mike calls out, no dinner!
What the hell? When I left he was preheating the oven. Again I ask, what the hell?
It turns out that yes, he did have the oven preheating, but it never actually heated. A quick appointment with the appliance version of Dr. Google has diagnosed it with a faulty glow ignitor. Le sigh.
Then Mike's on the phone with our sitter/hair dresser and yes she can cut his hair if he comes over right now. So out the door he goes. Me, I light the barbecue and throw the chicken that should have already been cooked out there. I check 5 minutes later and.... can you see where this is going? Yep, the barbie is cold. Out of propane. What the hell?
By this time it's after 6pm, the kids are slowly starving to death and I have moved my raw chicken from one non-functioning appliance to another and am no further ahead. Desperate times call for desperate measures and...... a can of zoodles. I'm typically not down with the canned pasta, but see above. Thirty seconds in the microwave and I'd solved one of my problems... [whine]I'm hungry. Mom, I'm starving![/whine]. Then I officially broke it off with the chicken and made myself a gigantic salad. Which I ate while still in my running gear.