Herself's Christmas edition.
My mother always said, that breaking china brought good luck. After dropping a plate from my grandparent's wedding service the night before my Higher maths exam and achieving a high B, I have been inclined to believe her.
So I dropped a pie dish while putting it into the dishwasher. That was caused by taking His-self shopping. I buy in bulk, but having No5 strapped to my front lifting 25kg bag of rice or 15kg of washing powder is not as easy as it used to be. So I lure His-self to the wholesalers for the heavier stuff. This time he spotted peppermint tea. After a while he decided to try it and we came home with tester of 160 tea bags. Needless to say, he did not like the taste. Not wanting to waste any, he swapped my usual morning first herbal to peppermint and after a week the "cleansing" effect of was obvious. What used to be my digestive tract was now a giant gas driven machine gun. That is how I came to drop the dish.
The next morning [Monday it was] No3 [son] got up first, switched on the kitchen light and had an immediate shower of sparks and flame. The strip-light was on fire and the house in darkness, the fuses doing what fuses should in a crisis. No harm done, except the smell and frantic chaos trying to get everyone to school on time in the dark.
No3 is doing his first year in the Secondary school and his classes include home economics. He is one seriously food allergic child and takes a lot of his own ingredients to the practical cooking classes. The week before they made an upside down cake. He forgot to mention the fact till the last minute. Usually he measures what he needs into plastic bags but I had no option but to send him to school with full packs of his special baking powder, xhantam gum and flour. For some reason he forgot his special pack into the science department later that day.
This "lucky" Monday he was baking again, but had forgotten to find his ingredient bag from last week. In the panic I had no option but to send him to school with my last bit of cream of tartar and ask in the school office if anyone had handed in the bag he needed.
While His-self was restoring our kitchen lighting later that morning I got a call from No3 "Mum No1 [son] brought my bag home last week, can you bring it out to me in an hour?"
I went and I looked - no sign of the bag. I Called No1 [son] "I hear you were really kind and borough No3's stuff home. Where did you put it?" No!1: "Cannot remember, but it is not in any silly place like under my bed." - "Yes son, I know, I looked. Where else could it be?" No1: "In the kitchen." - "Nope." No1: "Maybe I put in in the dog bed or in the bag with my sport shoes?" - "Looked both places, not there. Go find you brother and tell him it cannot be found."
When No3 came home and I enquired about his day. What a tale I got! The cream of tartar opened in his bag and could not be used. So he made a batch of ordinary muffins and gave them to No2 [daughter] to eat in chemistry revision. He had never imagined that breaking an egg was so difficult - took him 15 minutes.
My day was yet to get even better. This time a call from a friend. She is a good friend, a sensible woman, a nice person with both personality and sense of humour. Could I look after her daughter for couple of hours. My brain screaming NO and His-self looked like rabbit in the headlights when I heard my mouth uttering "Of course I can." This child is an absolute pain: she goes and lets the dogs run away, she criticises me and especially my ability to clean [I am not saying she is not right there...] and marches through the worst mud in her boots and before I can turn round I find her sitting on the living room sofa, cross legged and with the wellies still ON.
The lesson of my tale: Peppermint tea can ruin any good omen!