As women we sometimes challenge our husbands and test their undying love and commitment to us. Sometimes we take it too far...that said I have a little story about the day I almost gave my husband, Ian, a second bout of Bell's Palsey...
It was about 7am and I had been up since 5am cooking turkeys for an event in Folsom. Everything was running on time, kids were up and I was getting them ready for school and the sitter, coffee was brewed, dog was feed, the usual at the Kavookjian's. Ian, like always, loooooves to peak in on my cooking and in his culinary observations of my turkeys says,"Ya know you have too much liquid in this pan." I glared over at him, not in the mood to hear hear his critique. How dare he! I've been runnin' thangs since 5am, you glide down the stairs after your hot shower and get your already prepped coffee and you wanna tell ME I have too much liquid in the pan! I responded with," It's fine, go away."
He leaves. About a minute later I notice the oven smoking and I don't think much of it. It happens, drippings fall from the pan onto the hot oven bottom and smoke. I open the oven to take a peak and that's exactly what is going on. Ten more minutes pass and the amount of smoke pouring out of the oven is getting noticeably more intense. I think, "Maybe he was right, shit! I'll pour a little liquid out." I open the oven and BAM fire is pouring out of the oven like someone opened the gates of Hell. I scream," IAAAAAAAAAAAAN, FIRE!" He jumps down the stairs and pushes me out of the way and grabs the fire extinguisher. The fire alarm in our house is now blaring at an inhumane level of noise, the house is filling up with smoke, our kids are screaming, the dog is barking and like in a movie everything fades to black and all I see is the oven and my turkeys. I scream at Ian,"NO! NO fire extinguisher, you need to save my turkeys!" Ian looks at me in awe and shakes his head and proceeds to put the fire out with his hands and a large kitchen towel. Mom of the year over here, not thinking "Holy shit our house could burn down!" "Where are the kids?" "Did the dog get out"....nope save the damn turkeys.
Ian gets the fire out and burns his hand in the process. He stands up and turns to me,"What did I tell you! I told you woman, you don't listen!" He cleans up the oil and fat off the oven floor and places the turkeys back in. He turns to me and explains that the oven might smoke a little more, but it will be fine, just DON'T open the oven again until they're done. I nod my head in understandment and then he walks upstairs with the first aid kit to nurse his wounds. I can hear him telling me that he might have to go to the doctor and get this hand checked out, maybe miss work. I feel horrible, so horrible that while he is talking to me about his pain, I open the oven again to just peek at my babies, see if they are ok. BAM! Fire pouring out of the oven again. Repeat previous scenario, but this time I grabbed the kids and the dog and got them outside! (insert wry smile)
"Are you fucking insane woman! What did I just tell you!" screams firefighter Ian as he battles round two of flames. I don't know why I open that oven the second time. It was just talkin' to me. Saying "N'Gina...take a peek. It's ok, Ian won't be mad this time. Open me!"
Ian re-burns his hand and I say to him," Well at least you get to stay home with me today. (insert another wry smile)" His response,"Hell no I'm not staying home with your crazy ass today!" I give him the baby kitty eyes and he's done...he's staying home.
We clean everything up, go over a fire safety plan with the kids, send them to school and the sitter and Ian helps me load everything up for the drop off in Folsom. As we are driving down there, I am apologizing profusely. Making jokes that he is the only man that can literally and figuratively put out my fires. He's warming up. He starting to laugh again...and then...
"I forgot the gravy!"
He's not smiling anymore. We get to the dropoff and explain that we need to go back and get the gravy. Ian tells me to tell them that it will take at least an hour, I nod my head and tell the host it will take 30 minutes. Ian looks at me with pure shock and awe in his face. He runs to the car, jumps in and speeds off. I set up the food and in my head I'm thinking could this day get any worse, and then it does. I remember that we've forgotten one last thing. Ian has my cellphone so I can't call him and let him know. My stomach feels like it has a skyscraper collapsing one floor at a time inside, I am a wreck with nerves. Ian's gonna be pissed.
After setting the land speed record at 120 miles an hour (not joking), Ian returns about 40 minutes later. I rush out the doors to greet and him and nervously whisper, "Um baby, we forgot the rolls too, but they forgot that we were bringing them."
I watched as Ian's pupils dilated out like a crack head hopped up on Meth. The blue was completely gone, just icy black globes staring at me. The veins in his neck started pulse out like a juiced up UFC fighter. This is what a man looks like right before he chokes his wife to death. I was staring it right in the face. His right eye twitched, and I was like," and here's round two of Ian's stress related Bell's Palsey coming back." But Ian's a good man, he relaxed, took a deep Ujjayi breath and grabbed my arms and forcefully whispered, "We ain't sayin' shit!"
So in short, if after you set the house on fire twice, burn your man's hand, make him speed through Citrus Heights to retrieve forgotten items, and then drop a bomb that you forgot something else that he might have to go retrieve, if you're still alive and he's still talking to you, your good! He loves you, you've got him on lock down for the rest of your lives.