When good eggs go bad...

We awoke Sunday morning to a more relaxed pace than the rest of this week. Even Saturday saw Caroline and I leaving the house before 7:30 a.m. for a conference at church. But on Sunday no one even opened their eyes until a few minutes after 7:00. By 7:30 it was time to start getting up and getting ready for Sunday school with plenty of time for leisurely showers and unrushed breakfasts. So when Maria asked for eggs for breakfast I was happy to oblige.

Before I continue I should probably tell you that I think eggs are disgusting. Once and a while I will take a bite if it's smothered with cheese. Other than that I obstain from egg consumption. And the idea of cooking and smelling eggs first thing in the morning is equally unappealing. Maria however, LOVES egg. In order to meet her dietary requests and not gag in process I've begun cooking her scrambled eggs in the microwave. Quick, easy, and relatively odor free. It's worked really well. For months. Until today.

Half way through the cooking process (about 1 minute and a half) we heard a horrendous explosion. Maria and I both stopped, looked at each other, and ran to the microwave where we discovered this...

Can I get an OMG from y'all?

Since I had the time to clean it up, I was able to laugh at the absurdity of the exploded mess. Maria found it harder to find the humor in the situation since she was now foregoing her "cheesey eggs" for a bowl of cold Rice Krispies. Once I took the picture it became a little funnier to her as well.

As I cleaned up the egg shrapnel I kept thinking to myself, "Thank you Lord that this hadn't happened on a week morning." I think that would have pushed me right over the proverbial edge.

Don and I took turns cleaning it up in between getting ready (now at a rushed pace). Apparently it smelled really bad too. Mercifully, I've had a cold all week and couldn't smell it. Caroline would pull her shirt over her nose every time she entered the kitchen. Don turned on the exhaust fan on the stovetop. Maria thought is smelled delightful. Go figure.

Maria and I did managed to make it to Sunday school only a few minutes late (Don and Caroline bailed on us left early since Don was teaching this morning). I was actually pretty proud of myself for not freaking out. What good would that do, right?

Simply stated: No use crying over exploded eggs.