JENNIFER LIPPMAN

We just moved into a new house and there’s a built-in microwave.  I haven’t had a microwave in my house since before my daughter was born, if that time ever actually existed.  I’m a very modern thinker, not scared of new technologies or changing times, but on this subject, I’m completely retro. 

There have been several reputable studies done about the dangerous effects of microwaves.  The results of these scientific experiments can be confusing, but include the following possible effects on the human body:  severe molecular damage, cell mutations, the release of poisonous free radicals.  There are no studies about the health benefits of cooking with a microwave.  Think about it – things should not become burn-your-mouth-off-hot after being cooked for 30 seconds. 

Speed over health?  Your choice.  I’m not preaching.  I want it everything to happen yesterday – but when it comes to this, I’ve remained strong.

And don’t think my will power hasn’t been tested over and over now that I live with a built in.

My daughter is 2.  Patience is not her strong suit at this juncture in life.  She climbs up on her chair at the kitchen table before I’ve even opened the refrigerator.  At breakfast she screams “Oatmeal, Mommy!  I want oatmeal!”  And she doesn’t stop screaming until it’s in front of her.  I give her a million other choices while I start to boil water, but she refuses every one.  I look up at the microwave.  It beckons.  “One minute.  One minute and your problem will be solved.”  I force myself to ignore it.  I imagine the harmful effects on my gorgeous screaming banshee of a child and I go back to my stovetop. 

Some people say, why don’t you just get up a little earlier so the oatmeal will be ready when she gets up.  To those people I say, suck it.

Once I had 4 kids over for a play date and 4 frozen packages of organic macaroni and cheese.  I placed them on a baking sheet in the oven, set the timer for 30 minutes, and went outside to watch them play in the backyard.  I forgot about the turning the oven ON part.

The timer buzzed.  I called the kids inside for lunch, no one listened.  I said, “Who wants mac and cheese?”  Suddenly four hungry children stormed inside.  Imagine my joy when I opened the oven and saw the icicles glistening on each container. 

I heard a gentle whisper, “120 seconds.  No one will know.   Everyone will be satisfied.  Ashley won’t go home and tell her mother how you failed to deliver on your promises.”

I look at the four beautiful children.  I imagine their faces mutated beyond recognition.  It is not difficult.

I slap together peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (all organic ingredients), and tell them the oven is broken.

No one complains.  Except Ashley. 

So far, I have remained strong with my daughter but what about with myself? 

First of all, I have no interest in being more mutated than I already am, unless it involves botox.

But it’s hard when it’s noon and my morning coffee cup is sitting on the kitchen counter full and cold.  I never even had a chance to take a sip.  I do not want to make a fresh pot – and even if I did, we’re out of coffee.

I stare at the cup.  It taunts me, “30 seconds.  Maybe even 25 and I’m hot and ready for you.  What’s one little time going to hurt?”  I pick up the mug, walk towards the voice, and reach up to open the microwave oven door.  “Just this once.”

And then I remember that I used to smoke a pack a day for 10 years.  Then I quit for a year.  And then I smoked one cigarette at a party and it took me another 2 years to quit again.

I don’t do once well.   So far so good.