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A few days ago, I was cleaning out the refrigerator trying to make space for groceries. It was an exercise in tightening up what was in there, throwing out leftovers no one came back for and getting the kids to drink that last drop in the milk carton.

As I was shifting things around, I found a foil-wrapped package, pushed to the back of the fridge. I did not remember any recent leftovers that would have been in that shape.

Opening the foil, I discovered fish sticks. “Ah,” I said as I remembered the “Fish Stick Fiasco of ’09.” My daughter, Hannah, standing nearby, recalled the incident, too, and apologized once more for what had happened.

In preparing for upcoming meals, I had purchased two boxes of fish sticks. I figured we’d get a couple of quick meals from those during busy days.

One night, my daughter went to put some in the oven. She asked how many she should cook and I responded, “Go ahead and cook one box.” For whatever reason, this registered in her mind that she should cook both boxes.

In all, 60 fish sticks were cooked. There is no way the four of us would be able to eat that many in one setting. After going back and forth trying to figure out exactly where the conversation had gone so wrong, we just wrapped up the fish sticks we could not eat.

I hoped someone would find the leftovers and eat them. Apparently, no one did, and we added this incident to the growing list of food disasters our family has faced throughout the years.

One time, my husband did not remove the plastic film from a TV dinner though the instructions told him to do so. The film melted into the food, and the meal was ruined.

Another time, we somehow forgot to remove the support cardboard underneath when we baked some frozen pizzas. Do you know what pizza tastes like cooked on cardboard? Like cardboard.

Our worst food story happened the first year we were married. We had invited a friend of mine over for dinner one night. We were going to grill steaks on our little tabletop charcoal grill. The steaks I bought came two to a package, thus leaving us one extra to freeze.

I wrapped the extra steak immediately in white freezer paper and placed it in the freezer. A month or so later, I needed to dig something out of the freezer. The apartment did not have much counter space, so I set items out of the freezer in various places in the kitchen temporarily. When I got the item I was looking for, I repacked the freezer and went on about my business.

After a week or so my husband, Jay, and I started smelling something horrible in one corner of the kitchen. We tried cleaning behind the fridge, around the trash can, and in the pantry. Nothing seemed to work, and the source of the smell eluded us for a couple of weeks.

I do not remember exactly what caused my eyes to finally land on the top of the fridge. There, wrapped in freezer wrap, was that lone steak that never made it back into the freezer. That steak had been sitting there for a couple of weeks, its white paper blending in with the white fridge. The rancid steak was taken immediately to the Dumpster.

I really dislike throwing out food, but it happens to the best of us. Despite our best efforts to be a good steward with what God has provided for us, life gets busy. Next thing you know, you are standing face-to-face with a cucumber that has become a science experiment right there in your kitchen, growing fuzzy mold when you were not looking.

Linda Vestal is a wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend living in Gibsonville. Contact her with comments or story ideas at lindavestal@triad.rr.com.