Easter, a Roasted Chicken, and a Leaky Window

For all of Easter Sunday it rained in Chicago. And I don’t mean just rain, but thunder, lightning, sheets of slanting water pounding our apartment. Every hour or so I looked out the window and felt so sorry for the disappointed kids who had looked forward to hunting Easter eggs in the grass in the sun. So many parents coming up with back up plans most likely involving an egg hunt in their homes.

That’s what we did. Of course, Sam really didn’t know the difference anyway. He enjoyed finding his plastic eggs placed out in plain view on top of the couch or a shelf and, when cracked open, produced his favorite finger foods like Cheerios and pretzels. Not quite the candy craze of a regular Easter basket, but he did get a little squishy basketball and his first pair of shoes – Robeez, those leather moccasin looking things that won’t hinder his learning to walk. Yup, the day was just fine for us even though we were trapped inside.

I had also decided to roast my first chicken for a special Easter dinner. One may wonder how I made it so far in my life without ever doing this before. I was a vegetarian for most of middle school, high school, and college. I just never really learned how to cook meat. In the past few years I have certainly improved, learning for the first time how to do steaks, hamburgers, chicken parmesan, and several fish dishes. The roasted chicken was a big one though seeing as I am still pretty freaked out by anything resembling an entire animal. When the recipe informed me I would be “pulling out the giblets,” I had no idea what to expect and I was not looking forward to finding out. Much to my relief the “giblets,” disgusting looking bloody mush carcass, were enclosed happily in a little plastic bag and did not even require direct contact with my trembling hand. The next step was to “rinse the giblets and set aside...” I skipped that step, as well as the one involving the liver, which I can only assume was the skin flap looking thing wrapped up like a band-aid. So gross.

It was around this time that our day really took a turn. I don’t know how it all happened and I don’t care to recall the details, but the chicken roasting did not go well. It took longer than I had expected, probably because I had taken so long getting started due to the liver, slimy flesh bits, and washing my hands eight million times. So it was done much later than I had planned and we were well into our evening ritual for Sam’s bedtime before it was done. Then it was time to carve. I was so pissed from my tardiness and the 100 degree kitchen at this point that I had no patience and passed this duty onto Hubby. I quickly learned this was also his first experience with a roasted chicken. I left the room soon after he had pierced a hole into the disposable roasting pan, leaking “the basting juices” all over my counters and floor. By the time he came in with our plates, several....several minutes later, he was just as pissed as me. We ate our stupid chicken, which may have tasted decent but was so not worth the effort that had gone into it – it’s just chicken, after all. Sam watched his Baby Einstein video most likely wondering how he had managed to stay up so late without us noticing.

Finally, it was time to get him to bed and for one of us to deal with the kitchen. Poo diaper was changed, chicken juices cleaned, half of the dishes fit into the washer. We’re running about 30 minutes behind for Sam’s bed time now. Yet we had only just begun...

When Hubby went in to get our bed ready for reading time he discovered something dreadful. Please recall my emphasis on the rain earlier and let me apprise any reader of this blog (all 2 of you) of some dialogue that had taken place throughout the day.

2:29pm –
Beth: “You know hon, I think that place where the window meets the AC unit might start leaking if it keeps raining like this. It sounds like water is coming in.”
Hubby: “No, it won’t. I sealed it pretty well when I installed it. It’s not coming in.”
4:12pm –
Beth: “Hon, there’s some water dripping in the window onto the sill.”
Hubby: “Let’s put some paper towels down.”
4:40pm –
Beth: “Yeah Hon, the tapestry over the window is dripping burgundy water onto the window sill and the paper towels are soaked.”
Hubby: “Maybe I’ll take the AC out when it stops raining.”
5:30pm –
Beth: “It stopped raining.”
Hubby: “...”
7:30pm –
Beth: “Hon, if the AC is going to be taken out before Sam goes to bed it needs to happen now.”
Hubby: “I’ll do it in a few minutes.”

Insert chicken carving incident and subsequent activities here

8:30pm –
Hubby: “Oh Crap! The water got in! The bed is soaked, and the box spring. It’s all over the floor. Can I get some help in here?!”
Beth: “...”

Beth enters, avoiding eye contact. She runs to get a towel and roll of paper towels and proceeds to wipe water off the floor and window sill, resulting in all of the paint rubbing off of the sill to reveal the wood underneath. She envisions Sam enjoying his paint flake snack.

Hubby: “Just dab it don’t rub it!”
Beth: “Are you criticizing me?”

You can probably figure out the rest of that conversation.

9:00pm –
Sam finally makes it to bed in a room where our mattress is hanging off the box spring in order to allow them both to supposedly dry. The AC is on the floor, which is covered in sopping towels.

Happy Easter everyone!