My oldest daughter is almost 14. She is a budding cook, and for Mother's Day she sent me and my husband off for a long walk while she made dinner (you can see where this is going...). She had everything planned out--she even had my husband take her grocery shopping the night before so she'd have everything she needed.
Life is just busy, and Don and I don't have much free time to spend together, so our 90-minute walk was super nice and relaxing. On our way back to the car his cell phone rang. This is what I heard:
Don: Oh, man...
Don: Is there anything left to eat?
Me: Is she OK? Does she need to get her aunt? Does she need help?
Don: OK, we'll be home in about 15-20 minutes. (hangs up the phone)
Me: Is she OK? Does she need to get her aunt? What happened?
Don: Something caught on fire. But she's got it.
Me: What does that mean?
Don: She's OK. She's got it.
So the kitchen-side of the story goes like this: Alex wanted to make Mac & Cheese for us for dinner. She planned, bought ingredients, and followed the recipe, which ends with browning the bread crumbs under the broiler. While she washed the dishes (isn't she a dear?) she smelled something burning. It was the bread crumbs. She quickly pulled the pan out of the oven, and the bread crumbs were on fire--with actual flames. In seconds her mind ran though all the things you can do with a kitchen fire and ended up blowing on them to put them out. Then she called us (see the above conversation). As you can imagine, she was totally deflated. I tried to cheer her up with hugs and tales of times I've blackened things, but she was pretty sad. Her first time totally solo in the kitchen and there were flames.
She wondered if we could still eat it. "Of course," I told her, "we just scrape off the burnt crumbs and it's good as new." I would have choked it down if I had to, but it was really very good, and I ate more than I should have. I was so proud of her! The meal (and the time with my husband) was a wonderful Mother's Day gift :)