Lunatic's notes.

The best way to burn dinner is to cook it in almost complete darkness outside, with a very-energetic toddler handing on you once you step indoors.

And I mean not just have a crust a little too thick, but to set the whole set of meat and veggies on fire.
So that the flames almost reach the house wall. And there's so much smoke as if boyscouts invaded our backyard and chopped the fence and the garden beds to firewood. And that the grill would burn for another 10 minutes after the gas is shut off.

Just as Liz explained a quarter of an hour later when ordering pizza: "When you said you can't check on the burgers because the flames burst all the way up when you try lifting the grill lid - I realized things'd gone reeeeally wrong!".

I believe it all started last week when I tried to drink compote from Dr. Chill's sippy cup, mistakenly grabbing it instead of my champagne flute with juice.

Or a few days before that, when I was running around Dr Chill's classroom in daycare looking for a bag I brought his diapers supply in, and which mysteriously disappeared after I took out the diapers. Until one of his teachers tactfully suggested: "Like the big red bag behind your shoulder?".

Closing curtain.

I begin suspecting it's either my oldest one or the youngest one - doing something to my brain. Or maybe both of them.