As you may recall, I had what you might call an “incident” with the toaster last week. After that, it sat there on the counter for a couple of days while I decided what to do with it. I don’t really want to invest in a new toaster, since we use it maybe once a month … at best. But, then I remembered this horror story my mom sent me when I was living in my first college apartment about how toasters and coffee pots cause more house fires than anything else. (Which, naturally, I read by candle light in my cluttered apartment before falling asleep with all of my electronic equipment turned on, and something burning on the stove … after removing the batteries from the smoke alarm.)
So, I decided this once-a-month convenience-enabling appliance was not worth sacrificing the house we’ve just finished building and are finally settling in to. Oh, and also, I had two sick kids and a filthy house. So, I pulled out the garbage can, inserted the toaster, and went on my way. Without a second thought.
Until this morning. My husband was making breakfast for the kids, while I was busy preparing for my staff meeting. “Where is the toaster?” he asked. I think I shrugged, or mumbled something … consumed by my task at hand. “Oh, Momma threw it in the garbage,” my daughter snitched, as she jumped from her stool to show him. (Note to self: My four-year old is not yet a secret keeper … do not share Christmas gift ideas with her.)
And then it happened. Like magic. Instead of rolling his eyes and cursing my Minimal Challenge, my husband got on board. He turned around and fired up the oven’s broiler. I stopped what I was doing and ventured into the kitchen where my family was eating breakfast. In shocked disbelief, I tell you.
And so, my friends, we have arrived. I’d like to introduce you to my entire family of minimalists. Which, as you know, has been a long-time coming.