I awoke to this bizarre smell that I really couldn't place and the sound of my father talking rather loudly on the phone downstairs (that isn't peculiar. He always talks really loudly on the phone. Especiallyy when it's someone from work). I got up, brushed, brushed, spritzed, dressed, and found him still on the phone.
I went to track down the source of the smell.
I found a pfaltzgraft plate in the microwave with a freezer packet of creamed chipped beef on it.
The plate looked like someone had applied a black crackle finish to it. I remember them microwaving these plates before and them being fine. This time though, for some reason, the glaze gave up. Brown pools of... stuff... were on the plate and a crunchy black dust was all over it.
When he came out to the kitchen I informed him that the weird chemical smell was the glaze on the plate in the microwave. He looked around confused for a minute because he couldn't smell it.
In very gentle tones I had to talk him out of going ahead and using the plate anyway.
"it's sterile," he said.
Because it had been cooked.
That's uh... how he thinks.
Then he made his toast, pulled out a different plate, and tried to arrange the toast on a plate that's half the size of the plate he started out with.
"Uhm... dad. Why don't you get a bigger plate? it's never going to fit on that one."
"yeah... that's what I was just thinking.... hmmm...."
"you could use another one of those TYPES of plates that you originally used... just not that ONE that you used."
"hmmm yeah, I could."
Now he's happily eating his icky creamed chipped beef stuff.
And I washed the plate and put it aside. Well aside.
It's uhm.. scary, really. They need babysitters. They need help finding their glasses and remembering where they put their glass down. They can't get things out of the high up shelves anymore and they can't pick things up off the floor.
They're getting to an age that...
yeah I don't want to think about that, really.
hmm.. I *thought* I was in a fine mood. Apparently I'm morose. Hehe.