Burnt Banana Bread

So.....I have this 3-Tier serving display/tray thingy. I was hosting a "Christmas Brunch" for my husband Eric's family. My first ever.

A few weeks earlier I even did a recommended "trial run" of my proposed breakfast just to get the kinks out. Great idea! My Egg Bake turned out perfectly, as did my cinnamon rolls. Fresh fruit to finish. Yum. Okay...

...then I got greedy. I wanted more.

So I purchased this "impress my mother-in-law"3-Tier serving display/tray thingy. I planned the following: Level #1- Sugar cookies and well-choosen, less demented Gingerbread Men. Level #2 - My cinnamon rolls. Finally, level #3 - My husband's favorite recipe of mine: Chocolate Chip Banana Bread. Okay.

We carefully left alone 3 bananas to ripen......

Curve Ball. On December 24th it seemed that we needed to make some "last minute" purchases that we weren't expecting, and it was already 3PM. I was staring at a glass bread dish with all the bannan bread mixture put together, and the timer of the oven was beeping, letting me know that the oven was properly warmed up. Crap. I need to get everything done and don't know what the heck to do.

"I'll watch it hun," my husband said. I was nervous. "Honey, this oven seems to run hotter than our last apartments, you really gotta watch it." "No problem babe."

I feel like Eric's continuous banter of huns and babes is some odd effort to re-assure me of his capabilities. "Are you sure? Can you use the toothpick?" Blah, blah, blah...every last instruction I could throw on him. "Sure, yeah, of course babe, hun, baby hun, honey babe, blah, blah, blah."

Okay.

Well....then I got greedy.

"Can you also vaccuum and windex the bathroom mirrors? And then just do a "spot check" lifting up the toilet seats and making sure they are okay?" Got my nod and my babe-hun and I jetted out the door.

Walking up the street, through the errands, dodging piles of snow and pools of melted snow and oncoming traffic primed to hit potholes full of such snow and ick and spray me, I kept saying to myself, "have faith.....have faith....." That phrase ran through my head continuously like a holiday song, staying with me till I walked into the front door of our home an hour and a half later.

I didn't even have my key out of the door......nor did I have a full 6 inches of space into the room when I smelt it.

Our home burnt down.

"The banana bread is burnt isn't it?" I ached.

His response was shocked, sweet and sincerely innocent. "Oh you smell that? Just a little."

I dragged myself to hang up my coat, then took off my wet boots. I walked down the hallway to the kitchen.

I saw a giant steaming hockey puck of what was meant to be my 3rd tier of the perfect Christmas brunch and would make my mother-in-law fall absolutely in love with me....and if not, it would be the final "yes, this is ALL homemade" response to her routine question of, "is this homemade?"

A GIANT burnt hockey puck. Still steaming.

He set the timer and let it go.....and didn't look until the beeping reminded him. He was busy cleaning. His male sniffer only detects beef, cheese and if his Crown Royal/Coke is strong enough. EFFFER.

He did a great job on the vaccuuming and the mirrors. No one complained about the toilets.

So on Christmas Day my 3-Tier serving display/tray thingy had the following: Sugar Cookies and less-demented Gingerbread Men....cinnamon rolls.....and......more cinnamon rolls.

Merry Christmas!