Microwaves

I walked through the door and Jory greeted me with a hug.

“What did you do while I was gone?” I asked as I put my stuff down.

“Oma let us play outside. Rowan cooked in the microwave and we had to open all the doors because the house smelled. Oma said Rowan couldn’t use the microwave anymore,” Jory answered.

Wait, what? There was so much wrong with his last two statements. Why was a four-year-old using the microwave by herself? And really? Really?!?! Who was my mother to critique Rowan’s microwaving abilities? The woman who only seems to know how to set the timer on 10 minutes or 20 minutes to heat food, which is fine because she’ll “remember” that in two minutes she’ll have to stop the microwave because the food will really be warmed then. And she’s never forgotten when the two or three minutes were up. Nope, never.

Yeah, I wisely didn’t comment on the microwave adventure. Best to let that go.