Where's The Beef?

Tuesday morning, as the mist of sleep faded from my eyes, my husband started in on me about cooking up a roast and putting it in the crock. This was bad timing on his part. I understood he was trying to get out the door, while I was still abed. Still, it's not a good idea to wake a wife up with commands on how to make a pot roast. Jeremy took over cooking when I went back to school a few years ago, and though I graduated, he decided he liked cooking and took over the kitchen as his manly domain. Apparently, I don't know how to cook anymore. And also apparently, I cannot invade his space other than to make breakfast, lunch, or do the dishes. If he should happen to require my assistance, I am treated with specific instructions.

"You have to braise it. I bought three onions. Just use one or two of them. I don't think you need all three. Then stick it in the crock with some salt and pepper and a little bit of water at the bottom."

As if I've never made pot roast. I only cooked for the first nine years of our marriage! I sulked to myself. "I won't be able to do it today. I work. I will spend three hours in bathwater teaching contrary children from 3 months to about 5 years of age, dodging annoying parents, reassuring nervous ones, and then I'll make it home only minutes before the kids get home. After that it's the homework/drum practice/soccer practice/dinner melee followed by the frantic prep for school for the next day, followed by the frantic bedtime routine. Tell me when I will be able to make this pot roast?" I said, grumpy, wanting to be contrary for contrary sake.

"You could do it now, before work."

"You could have done it last night. Or gotten up before work. You wont even be here tonight for dinner. What does it matter. I'll make it Wednesday."

"Whatever," Jeremy shrugged, unwilling to give me the argument I was hankering for.

It turned out the pot roast argument was moot by lunch time that day.

I was just leaving the office at work as my cell phone rang. Not five minutes before, I was talking to my supervisor and friend about the pot roast conversation I had when I was not quite awake. I had just reconciled I was going to make the roast, but probably not in the crock, as there wasn't going to be enough time.

"Hi Mrs. ------------?"

"Yes?"

"This is Joshua's teacher."

Uh-oh. What now. I thought, imagining my son in the principal's office. Figuring I was making a trip to the school before I even heard the laughter in her voice. "Yes?" I asked tentatively.

"I just wanted to let you know. It seems Joshua grabbed the wrong bag this morning on his way out the door. He brought your pot roast to school for lunch." She started to chuckle. "He said, 'Oh no! I brought Daddy's bag with me!' and so I told him to just eat his dad's lunch. Then he said, 'No, you don't understand. Dad never took the roast out of the shopping bag. I grabbed that by mistake.' I asked him 'did you realize how much heavier it was than your regular lunch?' And he said no. So I gave him some money for lunch today."

"Oh! Thank you so much!" By this point I was laughing as was my supervisor who has had the privileged of teaching Joshua how to swim and then coaching him on swim team later. She is well aware of his, shall I say, eccentricities, so to speak. "I'll send in money tomorrow to reimburse you."

"Oh no need. He really made my day. That was the funniest thing I'd ever seen. He wanted to bring it back home, but I told him we had to throw it out. It's been sitting in his locker since 8:30 this morning. I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn't wonder where your roast was when you went looking for it in your fridge."

"Yeah, I don't think I want it back. Thanks for chucking it. Thanks for letting me know" So much for pot roast for dinner.

"No problem. Good bye."

"Bye."

I hung up the phone, and didn't think about the pot roast for the rest of the afternoon until about five thirty when I received another phone call at home, this time from the assistant principal.

"Is this Mrs ----------?"

"Yes?"

"Um, did one of the sixth grade teachers contact you today about, uh, the uh, meat?"

Meat, meat, meat...Oh! The pot roast! "Yes, Joshua's teacher did call me. Too funny."

"Well," She began, not quite sure what to say, "Uh, it's here in the nurse's office. I didn't know if you needed it back, or er, wanted to see it for, um, proof or something, or if you, uhh, wanted us to chuck it for you."

"Oh, I was under the impression it was already in the dumpster. Just get rid of it." My pot roast spent the day in the nurse's office? Too too funny!

"Ohhhh Kay. We'll let the custodial staff to just toss it in the dumpster. Thanks."

I'm sure that went down in the history books for the assistant principal as one of the more unusual phone calls to home.

That night we had quesadillas for dinner.