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I am the world’s biggest fan of summer for several reasons, not the least of which is the BBQ. From Friday night to Sunday in mid-May until the end of October I can typically count on my darling husband to BBQ. Sometimes it’s delicious – (steak marinated and cooked just so) – and sometimes, not so much – (experimental kabobs last night that flopped), but it’s always most importantly not me doing the cooking. Yeah! Let’s hear it for barbecues. Which brings me to my sad story of the evening and the explanation of this picture. Having returned from long hour of grocery shopping with my five-year-old I warned husband he should barbecue the chicken I just bought. After about a half an hour had passed he came into the house with a worried look and said: “I have a problem.” Which then meant Paula was somehow supposed to help sort this out despite the fact that I was sifting through my 800 emails that accumulate on the weekend and trying to get to an urgent advocacy task I was supposed to have done (letter to local MPs for Adoption Council of Canada). Anyways said problem turned out to be a leaky propane tank which he was about to hook up to BBQ. Mildly irritated by this interruption I tried to calmly ask my better half what we were supposed to do with a leaky propane tank and was met with befuddled comment. So smart Mommy that I am I googled “what to do leaky propane tank?” and got half a dozen news reports of houses that had blown up as a result of this particular situation. This, I did not think was good news. Eventually we both decided we’d call 911 and not five minutes later this (see above) fire truck showed up. My children who’d been doing crafts in the basements were momentarily really impressed and will have cool story to tell at day camp tomorrow. So what are we left with boys and girls? Paula cooking a sucky chicken dinner on Sunday night. GrRR! And a lesson of the day is one: never trust husband to know what to do in emergency. And two: it’s okay to leave the tank sitting in the shade leaking away, because it will eventually empty itself. Unless of course you smoke.
Mom of two beautiful active girls, traveller, fitness junkie, social media consultant, and keeper of the sanity.
