The deep heavy stoneware crockpot is full of the mushed vegetable detritus of last night’s roast beef supper.
The tall glass blender is unwashed.
I slip on yellow rubber gloves, and wash the blender, poking the sponge around the sharp blades.
I wash a frying pan.
I place the black gleaming crockpot next to the gleaming glass blender jug, and begin spooning the mushy vegetables and beef juices from the crockpot to the blender.
Pulse, take off the lid, stir, put back the lid, pulse.
I take out four large skinned bone-in chicken breasts, thawed, from the fridge. As I am pureeing the vegetables, I flour the chicken breasts and place them in frying pan with butter.
On Tuesday, I had cut the ball of my right thumb on the lid of a tin of corned beef. It is a deep cut. Bandaids don’t stay on properly. As I handle the horrible slimy chicken breasts, patting and rolling them in flour herbed with rosemary, I remember Azar joon, the wife of my mother’s cousin, who got blood poisoning after handling raw chicken and cutting herself in the kitchen, and F. Scott Fitzgerald’s horrible story, The Crystal Bowl.
My thumb throbs.
I spoon vegetable puree into tupperware containers. This will be useful for soups, noodles, spaghetti sauce, meatloaf, anything and everything. I am the supermom. The smell of cold boiled mushed vegetables- cauliflowers, broccoli, carrots, celery fill the air.
I have three tupperware containers of mushed vegetables. I start spooning the browned chicken breasts into the crockpot, now clean.
I put one container in the fridge, and two in the freezer.
My thumb stops throbbing, but I can still feel the wound. My war wound of the battle of the kitchen.
I turn on the crockpot. I fill the dirty blender jug with warm water, squirting some dishwasher liquid inside.
9:30 My coffee is ready. Last night’s supper has been dealt with. Our evening meal will be ready in time- when the kids come home, they will be greeted by the smell of roasting rosemary chicken.
I am a hero. I won the battle.
I collapse on the couch.