Yesterday I was running a few errands, kids in tow. One of those errands was a stop at the gas station.
I pulled up to the pump (making sure that I positioned the car so that J Man could see the numbers. He really likes watching the dollars and cents roll by- me too…ha!) and started to get out of the car.
J Man: (quite alarmed) “Mommy! What are you doing?”
Me: (perplexed) “I’m going to get some gas.”
J Man: “Do you know how?”
J Man: “Daddy knows how.”
Me: (somewhat defensive) “Yes, and so do I!”
J Man: (dubious) “Are you sure…?”
I finally convinced him that I was capable of pumping gas into the car without maiming or injuring passersby.
In his defense, my children were born and raised in Portland, and we don’t pump our own gas in Oregon. Certainly, especially for a conscientious old man like my 5 year old, this was a concern.
Pumping gas. It’s really not that hard.
She’s apparently not convinced.
Baking potatoes. It’s not that hard.
I made the best baked potatoes last night. Filled with onions, red bell pepper, garlic and pesto, they were amazing!
We were having some friends over for a hot dog roast, and I really wanted fire baked potatoes, but previous experience taught me that they take forever to cook. Bedtime is a priority for all involved, so I didn’t want to waste time waiting for potatoes to bake.
So I cheated. I prebaked the potatoes in the oven for about 45 minutes and then finished them up in the fire.
Perfection. They still got all smoky and charcoaley, but we weren’t sitting around waiting for them to bake.
Is it just me, or are fire-roasted potato skins the best?
Followed up by some s’mores (my Dandies marshmallows worked like a charm), it was the perfect night.
My kids may not believe that I’m capable of pumping gas, but I think I have them convinced on my cooking ability…