First off you need to know two things:
1) Nutella is incredibly high-strung and paranoid. She BARKS all the time. This is probably our fault due to our lack of taking her on walks and ability to emit calm-assertive energy. She barks all day long at everybody who has the audacity to walk by the house. There is however one time of day that she does not bark and that’s when she’s put to bed in her kennel in the kitchen. Remember this… it is important to the plot.
2) The only one in the house more paranoid than Nutella is Arnold. He has installed extra deadbolts on every door and constantly talks about “security”. I guess that’s what happens when you grow up in a town where Wild-West style shoot-outs are not un-heard of (Big ups to Barbosa, Colombia).
That was a lot of set-up wasn’t it? I know. I apologize.
So anyways, on with the story. The other night we were experiencing a rare night of peace: Elian was sleeping, all the clothes were washed and folded, the bread-maker was full of ingredients that would magically turn into wholesome and economical bread overnight and Nutella is blessedly dreaming on the couch instead of barking and running in the hopes of achieving sonic boom. It was the perfect night so Arnold and I decided to enjoy emptying our TiVo-To-Do-List. Then we tucked the wild wildebeest into her kennel and called it a night. Bliss.
I hope you sense the foreshadowing. I am Bridget Jones’ married-with-family alter-ego. It’s just not my life if I’m not stumbling into bed after having tripped over the dog and fallen into the washing machine. It was too perfect to be true…
At 3:30 am we wake up to a huge crash. Arnold was already charging out the bedroom door when I realized that Nutella was barking like a maniac. She never barks at night. Her barking is a very bad sign. Thank God I was still kind of asleep or else I would’ve been terrified. And then I realized… my husband is possibly running at a crazy burglar with absolutely nothing to defend himself. It seems we don’t have any baseball bats or machetes conveniently placed around the house for burglar defense. As my mind leaves it’s frozen-up like Windows XP state I realize that I also have NO idea where my cell phone is. Obviously Casa Perez needs a better emergency plan.
As I sit there quicksanding through my thoughts like a snail my husband the hero re-enters our bedroom carrying a violently-shaking puppy. I’m still kind of confused but I’m finally with it enough to feel relief. ”What happened?” I asked.
“The bread-maker fell on Nutella’s bed. She has to sleep in here tonight”.
It seems that our little appliance was angry that it is over-used and under-appreciated so it wobbled itself to the edge of the counter and suicided onto the kitchen floor, at 3 am. When I got to the kitchen it’s carnage of popped-off lid, bread pan and still-rising dough was strewn about like some kind of crime scene.
Is it bad that all I could think was “Crap, I so don’t want to measure out the ingredients for bread again!”? I was so disgusted with the bread machine that I didn’t even bother to throw the dough ball away. I just plopped it on the counter and stumbled back to my bedroom. Our bedroom was now a victims recovery room where Nutella and Arnold were clearly still experiencing a little bit of PTSD. Nutella whining and shaking and Arnold saying “We need to use the alarm at night. Seriously. Seriously!” I calmed them both and fell asleep in approximately 5 seconds. I’m a Mommy I can’t waste my time.
The next morning I woke up threw away that blob that had doubled in size on my counter and pieced my sorry little bread-machine back together. I can’t say that I don’t feel a little anger still towards my appliance but we’re working on mending our relationship. Yesterday he gave me a nicely sized whole-wheat loaf with raisins and bits of chocolate. It’s not perfect but a little chocolate goes a long way towards reconciliation.