The Grill Master

     About once per year, I decide to try and grill something outside.  Last year, I even determined to become a grill master, but alas, that did not work out.  My smart husband would love if I would stop using the oven during the hot months, because we are basically heating the house while simultaneously paying money to have it cooled.

     So tonight, I decided to impress him and whip up a few pork chops.  First, I told the girls to stay far away from the grill and hang out by their play house.  Easy enough.  This time, it only took approximately 2 minutes for the scene to turn from a wife making dinner to fire in the hole!

(I managed to turn everything off before snapping this crappy phone pic):

     All the while, Myla was trying to chat with me (per usual).  In my frazzled state, I basically kept hollering things at her like, "Just don't talk to me right now!  Give me a minute!"

Finally, as the flames died down, she said, "Can I ask you a question yet?"

     "Sure," I said.

     "Mom, you burned the chicken."

     "Thanks, honey."

She is such a helper.

(Bonus: Since I never grill, Dave was temporarily storing the plastic baby pool behind it on our porch.  It now features a lovely melted edge.  Whoops!)