Dadder some?

In honor of Andy's birthday, I decided to make his favorite mandarin pork roast. Thus it was that when he came home from work (surprisingly early--his trig class was cancelled) he was greeted by the savory aroma of smoke, and the sweet sound of the smoke alarm. And some rather obnoxious music, because apparently my tastes are rather too eclectic for Pandora to make any sense out of. And a really, really hot house. Nothing to do with the smoke, mind you, it's just that it's still warm outside, and I had the oven on, and this Arizona girl really doesn't notice heat below 100 degrees.

Anyway, there was quite a frenzy of door-flapping, in a desperate attempt to get the smoke out of the house so we could shut the windows and turn on the air conditioner. Finally, we remembered that there really is a reason why they always put a little fan over stoves, the little fan made everything all better, we turned on the AC, and Andy lay down for a much-needed nap.

As I assembled the glaze for the pork roast--which, by the way, is NOT burnt, and which I'm sure will be quite yummy despite the lack of rosemary and soy sauce and perhaps one or two other items that never made it onto the shopping list because surely every well-stocked kitchen always them on hand--Nathan discovered Andy's Gatorade on the counter. Gatorade is very important around here, since Andy is not from Arizona, and does not do well with heat. I have high hopes that many disastrous bouts of heat-sickness may be averted, now that we've realized that Powerade is not, in fact, the same thing only cheaper. At any rate, Nathan pulled his father's electrolyte-replenishing fluid down off the counter, unscrewed the cap, drank some, and offered the bottle to his brother. After taking a small sip, Isaiah thought we should offer some to Dadders.

"Dadder some? Dadder some?"

I assured him that Dadders had already had some, but that I was very proud of his thoughtfulness. I left Isaiah to finish off the Gatorade, and went back to my fruitless search for the soy sauce.

Just as I'd given up, and was deciding how much salt and sesame oil to use in its place, Andy came tearing out of the bedroom, covered in the Gatorade so lovingly foisted upon him by his dear son.

And I thought the whole thing was so funny, I simply had to blog about it that very minute.

I do hope the roast isn't burnt.

No comments: