It really was my fault that the Pyrex bowl exploded on the stove top Sunday afternoon. I wasn’t in the kitchen when it happened, but I take full responsibility.
Which makes me equally responsible for the tiny shard of glass lodged in my son’s heel – the bit that kept him from running the half-mile in gym class, and which required a trip to the doctor to remove.
And it is definitely my fault that the center burner isn’t working properly … something to do with the flying glass, I’m sure, though the appliance guy hasn’t come out to fix it yet.
But I’m not that sorry, especially now that it’s safe to walk barefoot in the kitchen again. Especially because the worst didn’t happen – no eye injuries, no fire, no major trauma.
I encouraged Sammy to make his own lunch; I just didn’t tell him which pot to fill with water to boil the noodles. It didn’t occur to me that he wouldn’t choose a pot at all. In his nine-year-old mind, a mixing bowl made perfect sense – he knew he would have to add butter and milk and cheese sauce to the macaroni. Why not start with a bowl?
When it comes to my children’s independence, I try not to err on the side of caution, which means that sometimes I make mistakes. I figured that because he knew how to fill a pot with water and turn on the stove, my son was ready to cook without me. I figured that because he knew how to use a potholder, he wouldn’t get hurt. I figured that because I was in the next room, he was safe.
No guarantees in this life, right?
I bought a big metal mixing bowl this afternoon. I don’t suggest heating water in it on the stove, but if you do, I promise it won’t explode.