Weapons of Mess Distraction

Spencer wanted to make caramel apples. Fine--I'm a cool mom, I can handle this, right? Most of you know I'm not that great of a cook, but I normally fare pretty well in the baking department.
I mixed up the caramel ingredients and microwaved it to melt. When I took it out of the microwave, it was barely bubbling...perfect! uhhhmmm...No. When I stirred it, the mixture bubbled up like one of those volcano kit science experiments. Spencer is hollering "WOW!!! COOL MOM!" and I'm grabbing waxed paper and stirring like a mad woman trying not to give myself third degree burns with a boiling magma of butter and brown sugar.
The eruption finally calms down and I test it to make sure it doesn't taste scorched. Mother%$#^(!! Why did I just poke my finger in to taste it when I *just* witnessed it reach beyond boiling point??? And while I am trying desperately to cool my burning finger and censor my potty mouth, my poor son sticks HIS finger in the caramel to taste it because evidently his thinks I'm doing a dance of joy around the kitchen and not a dance of pain. UGHH!!
For the love of all things holy, I have seen Carnival workers with 3rd grade educations, 4 teeth and misspelled tattoos make caramel apples. I should be able to do this without injury and without launching a stream of obscenities resembling a sailor with Tourettes.
Fast forward a minute or so-- we both have cooled our fingers and have impaled the poor apples with the popsicle sticks. We coat each apple in the caramel and set it aside to cool.
Finally! I did it! They looked really good, too! I asked Spencer if he wanted one and he said, "Nah. No Thanks."
Brat.