...Fire. No we didn't light it but we tried to fight it.
Yesterday I tried to burn down my kitchen.
You think I'm being dramatic, don't you? Let me ask you something, when someone is being overdramatic, does her husband come to the rescue with the fire extinguisher?
It started innocently enough. I was throwing dinner together for my family. We had to hurry because we had to leave twenty minutes later to get to our small group Bible study. I heated up refried beans, flipped Garrett's quesadilla, and threw a couple of tostada shells into the toaster oven. As I multi tasked I suddenly realized that I smelled burning. Swiveling my head to the right I saw that my tostada shells were a yucky shade of brown. I yanked the door of the toaster oven open and that's when the smoke started billowing out.
Garrett is deathly afraid of the smoke detector so I started fanning the smoke. Apparently, the sudden abundance of oxygen made the heat very happy and, quickly, a flicker appeared in the center of one of the shells. I yelled to Troy, who was standing by the table, "It's on fire!" He darted over and, since the flicker was really little, we both blew on it. The flicker quickly became a flame which quickly became a decent sized fire pouring out of my toaster oven. Within about two seconds it was licking the underside of the cabinets.
Troy darted to the pantry, yanked out the fire extinguisher, pointed and shot. In one quick motion, the fire was out and my counters were covered with a fine film of powder that I am still trying to clean up. Garrett, who was watching the whole ordeal with wide eyes from his chair quietly asked, "You okay, Mommy?"
I'm okay. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for the toaster oven.