By the time I realized that I was burning blisters into my right hand, I knew I should have waited. I’d reached into the microwave ever so cavalierly and grabbed the handle of the mug my mother had given me for Christmas. It reads “I coach. They play. You watch.” Oh how I love it so. I love it so much, I took a picture of it on Christmas morning shortly after unwrapping it, and then I sent it to my fellow soccer coaches with a note that read, “Let’s get this on sweatshirts!”
Hahahahaha! How droll.
It took until I’d stepped away from the microwave and stood in the middle of the kitchen so very far from any of the counter-tops surrounding me to realize that the mug’s handle was *%#ing hot. So hot that I should have just dropped it on the floor. Instead, I thought But I love my new mug, and I don’t want to break it. Meanwhile, my hand burned.
So I bent down as fast as possible and placed the mug on the floor, spilling green tea onto my slippers. Then I ran my hand under cold water for a while before filling a plastic baggie with ice and sticking it on my hand while grumbling for the next 30 minutes or so.
I should have waited. After all, waiting has been the theme of my kids’ (and my husband’s) holiday break. I ought to be good at it:
Now, I’m just waiting for school to start on Monday. Maybe then my kitchen floor won’t crunch when I walk on it, even though I’d just cleaned it yesterday. I’m also waiting for my hand to heal, and for another cup of tea in my favorite new mug. Note to self: Wait for it to cool down.
P.S. Last call for “The 12 Days of Christmas Break.” Pass it on to your friends who are also waiting for school to start: