When I sat down 30 minutes ago to write a post I had no idea of the events that were about to transpire in my kitchen. I was going to post the 2nd set of pictures from our Beach Trip, but now I have to tell you why my precious husband is scooping a sour creamy chickeny mess out of the drawer under our oven. I decided to get creative for dinner tonight - which usually means I throw caution and recipes to the wind and toss a bunch of whatever we happen to have on hand in a casserole dish. Tonight we happened to have chicken, black beans, Rotel (diced tomatoes and peppers), sour cream, cream cheese, corn, and flour tortillas. I lined the casserole dish with torn up tortillas, mixed everything else together (with some spices) and dumped it on top. All of that went smoothly and as planned. For maybe the first time in my life I actually preheated the oven -- to about 450 (not because it needed to be that hot - just because I am impatient and think that turning the temp up will get me fed faster). I'm still not sure exactly what happened next. I know that I opened the oven door and I think immediately after I opened it I reached for the casserole with both hands. I know I opened the door all the way - but for some reason it closed on my left forearm as I was leaning down to put the casserole in the oven. Since I had actually preheated it to a bajillion degrees it burned my arm and I dropped the casserole so I could get the door off of me. Of course, the casserole turned upside down and spilled all in the crack between the oven door and the oven. Since I was in pain and my mind quit working and everything was hot I just stood their staring at this huge mess and waste of what was to be a yummy dinner. I turned the water on to run it on my arm and of course it came out hot as crap even though I turned it to cold first. That's when I started crying. Justin wasn't home yet, and I didn't know how to clean up the oven and save dinner. I turned the oven off and started scooping up the chicken and stuff and putting it back into the dish. By the time Justin got home I had cleaned up what I thought was most of the mess, but when we opened the bottom drawer we saw where it all had really gone - on top of all our clean pots and pans. He shooed me away to tend to my arm (after hugs and laughs) and he's cleaning up the rest of the mess. The casserole (what I could save of it) is in the oven. It better be the freaking best meal I've ever made.
My arm hurts.