When the boys are upstairs, they never respond to my questions.
They don’t answer the phone or care that the dogs need to “go outside”.
Mom is on her own and they are in their own world.
They will respond quickly to one word. It isn’t “Dinner” or “Ice-cream” or even “Movie”.
They stampede down the stairs like a herd of Rhinos charging, when I yell “FIRE”.
Tonight, the toaster oven produced a small flame behind the grill bar that holds the infrared tube.
As much as I blew, it refused to go out.
That’s when I yelled “FIRE”.
I shut the door, pulled the plug out, and turned on the oven vent.
I was more worried over the smoke detector going off.
The flame continued until Scott blew out the flame.
“Who cooked something greasy?”
I pointed to Will and took a step back.
Rather than getting a lecture, he said to Will, “You have to be more careful when you cook stuff in there.”
I’m thinking That’s all, no punishment, no verbal thrashing? How can he get away with it and I can’t?
Hummm… Next time I set something on fire, I’ll blame Will. I’d rather see someone else sweat.
Set anything on fire recently? I do it so often, it is just another day in the kitchen. Tell me your story at
firstname.lastname@example.org or Helen Aitken on Facebook.
Have a safe and fire free day.