Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Falling apart

Yesterday my lovely little monsters came back.  I miss them a lot now that they're gone a bit more, and they miss me.  Not much we can do about that, I guess.

Anyway, I set about making them dinner last night as I discussed homework with Calvin.  Slapped the pot on the stove for boiled eggs, cranked it up, fought over the journal and what constituted an acceptable entry (note: one partial sentence is not an acceptable entry).  I look up after a few minutes and notice the kitchen is FULL of smoke.  I had turned on the wrong hotplate and the wool pad that had been on that hotplate was transmogrified.

Mental note:  don't leave shit on the stove.  It is not a storage space.
Mental note 2: it's true, wool doesn't burn.  It just... carbonizes.  It only burned in the exact spot it was resting on the hotplate.  So dress your babies in wool and they won't be tragically disfigured in the event of accidental burning.

It stunk to high heaven.  I had instant flashbacks to the tragic stew incident of my childhood, where we went to the mall leaving the stew on the stove on high and came back to a house FULL of disgusting smoke.  I swear it took months to get the smell of burned flesh out of our coats.

Also - my smoke detector didn't go off.  OK, most of the smoke was in the kitchen and the detector is down the hall at the bottom of the stairs.  I'm wondering if this is a bad thing or not.  It doesn't go off every time I burn the toast, which is good.  If the house actually was on fire, the smoke would have to go past the detector to get upstairs, which would wake us up.  But maybe it would be better if we got a bit of advance warning before the whole bottom storey was filled with smoke?  Hmmm.... I think not having it go off with every cooking malfunction might win out.

I know this won't come as a stunning revelation to anyone with an ounce of sense, but my kids like it when I pay attention to them.  We've been drawing, playing games (Calvin is kick-ass at chess.  He castled!), playing Lego... and they are much much much happier, spend less time fighting with each other and don't feel the need to bug me every 20 second to play computer games (we're down to every 5 minutes, but it's an improvement).  Ah, parenting.  Why can't you be easier?

Homework for two kids?  Check
Calvin punching me in the arm?  Check
Jack throwing a shoe at my ankle?  Check.
25 Lego dudes unearthed from the bottom of the bin?  Check.
Whinging bouts averted?  Check.

Both kids are finally peacefully asleep in bed, the laundry is finishing up it's cycle and the horrible sound of grinding, gnashing metal bits erupts from the washer.  Again.  Once can be explained away, twice needs attention.  Stupid front loader - I don't have a clue.

On the plus side, I've managed not to to send emails that will get me into trouble.  Not like I haven't written a few but I have managed not to send them.  So far.

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