My crock pot is no more, sad, considering what it took to get that thing out here. It was in storage for a year because we got it for our wedding and couldn't bring it home, and Todd literally carried it home with him on the airplane on the flight home from my sister's wedding (He's a nice guy for doing it, he got all kinds of smart remarks from passengers). Anyway, since it's been here we have cooked roast and pork barbecue, both yummy and delicious. Being a non-cooker, it's the perfect thing for me, I love being able to leave the thing on to do the work while I sleep or go to church.

Why is it no more, you say? Sunday morning our pork was done cooking so I had taken it out of the pot to shred the meat for sandwiches. Todd asked if he could help, and being the independent woman I am (ha!), I told him I'd be fine. I needed to save the liquid that was in the crock pot left over, and so I grabbed the crock pot handles and starting pouring into a bowl. However, I carelessly forgot that the crock pot bowl is NOT attached to the part with the handles.

In slow motion, I saw the crock pot bowl start to slip out of its place, and in one fluid moment, it dashed to the floor into a thousand tiny pieces. And I mean a thousand. It was all over the floor. And of course, I, Miss Non-Emotional, began sobbing. And sobbing. Luckily, I have a kind, caring husband, who came over, hugged me, and kept saying, "It's ok, it's ok," as I continued to cry over my broken crock-pot. He got me out of the way, and commenced cleaning up the entire mess while I sat on a chair, trying to get myself together. Luckily, the pork was fine, and we finished it up Sunday afternoon by marinating it on the stove, so our food wasn't ruined. But we will be in the market for a new crock pot, come Boise. I miss my cute, blue, easy-to-use crockpot already.