Yes, Rachel, I am blogging about it.
I must tell the world.
It’s some sort of motherly validation and proof, or something like that.
Last night Rachel placed two cans of pop in the freezer. I warned her that they would explode and to take them out.
“No, they won’t explode. It doesn’t get that cold.”
I told her about my own (stupid) act, when I left a case of pop in the back of the car overnight.
In Minnesota.
In the middle of January.
The next day I had a bit of sticky cleanup to contend with.
At –10F.
But it was my fault and so I had to clean it up.
She insisted it wouldn’t explode. Okaaaaaay.
Today she opened to freezer to get the pop out. A pair of cans flopped out, their sides had split open and foamy brown spray was frozen all over the right side of the freezer.
I handed her a large bowl, threw a towel on the floor, nodded toward a pancake turner and said, “Go.”
I will be smiling about this for quite a while… for at least 30 years or more, anyway.
“Mom, I think because you’re laughing you get to do some of this…”
