Sometimes a bowl of corn is just a bowl of corn

Last night I had one of those incidents. Sometimes I just get flustered. The wife and I had a nice afternoon date, shopping... we've gotten a bit jaded on the let's go to a fancy restaurant and gaze at each other every week thing. So, we've taken to varying it a bit. And since we both need new clothes, shopping works.

#1 was getting anxious for our return, so he called us on the cell to ask when we'd be getting home. So, we came. Dinner. I decided to make an easy meal that he would particularly like: "tender strips" (aka fried chicken strips) with pasta and creamed corn. #1 was "helping" to dip the chicken in flour, then eggs, then bread crumbs. Of course, a nearly four-year-old helping make dinner slows it down quite a bit. Halfway through I tossed my wife one of those glances that meant help, or we won't eat until 9:00! So, she took him aside to help her make some brownies from a mix, all the while trying to entertain or hold #2 as well. I rushed as I could to finish up the chicken.

Then, the corn... easy enough, pour some frozen kernels into a pan with a half inch of water, boil, drain, add some butter, some milk, mix some of the liquid from boiling with some corn starch, then thicken the "cream". I poured it into a bowl for serving. Then, as I picked it up to carry to the table.... oh...ooops, oh... oh, uhng.... aaaarrrggh!

The whole thing fell to the floor and spread corn everywhere. I ran out the side door, and sat for a minute, thinking about my breathing. [in.... out.... in.... out....]. Then I returned, to clean up, then make the corn again.

You know, in the grand scheme of things, a bowl of corn is just a bowl of corn.