Where There’s Smoke…

There’s fire…

We had an exciting night last night.  I volunteered to do dinner, mainly so I could get a minute alone in a room by myself.  When my hubby said he was too tired and would rather do dinner I should have known.  Actually, I had an inkling that I should do dinner but I didn’t listen to do it doggone it.  Instead I gave Dave the instructions: 1) put the leftovers in an oven safe dish & 2) reheat for 10 minutes on 350.

Seems simple enough right? That’s why it was so surprising when I heard Dave say “oh, oh, oh, oh crap” loudly as Ransom, Rhys & I were cuddled in our favorite chair watching the *Cars* movie on my laptop.  I figured it had to be some bad news he’d heard on sports radio or something.  It couldn’t possibly be the food, I mean what can go wrong when your reheating left-overs?

About 20 seconds later, I hear Dave thrashing about in the kitchen.  Pans dropping, drawers opening and slamming shut and him muttering on, “oh no, oh no.”  So, naturally, I’m getting curious and ask if anything is wrong in there.  “Just, just wait a minute,” and then he trails off again.  He sounds really stressed out & so again, I say, “babe, is everything okay, do you need help in there?”  He’s obviously flustered but still telling me he’s got it under control.  I still don’t know what it is… though I’ve got a feeling once I hear him run downstairs to cover the fire alarm, slam the basement door shut and turn on both fans in the kitchen.  Now, I’m getting downright worried.

Just as I’m getting up to see what the problem is I see thick billowy black smoke rush into the living room and our dining room.  Dave is still in his own world, not paying attention to me or responding and I look into the kitchen to see what is on fire.  Our stove is on fire.  Well, one of the burners that is.

A few days ago, one of the lovely ladies from our Church brought us a meal to celebrate the birth of our new little guy, Rhys.  She brought it in a crock-pot & I left the crock-pot top on a burner.  It was clear.  Dave -in his tiredness- turned a burner on when he meant to turn on the inside of the oven.  Yep, the same burner I left the top on.  Did I mention it was clear? Was, being the operative word.  That crock-pot top met a sad sorry end last night as it began to melt and then burst into flames on top of our stove.

Which is where I pick the story up.  As I head into the kitchen the smoke is thick and dark and in plenty.  The fire is now a pretty good size & I’ve started to panic.  Rhys started gagging on the smoke and I knew I had to get out of the house.  Just then Dave said loudly & firmly “get yourself & the kids out of the house now!”

In my mind I thought the best thing to do would obviously be to call the fire department.  I head over to our alarm system & press the fire button which automatically sends a signal and they come over right away.  Nice, huh?  As I press it our alarm begins to go off.  It’s really loud.  I mean obnoxiously loud.  The sound of it only added to the pandemonium.

And this is the sad part of the story…

After the alarm started going off Dave asked if I turned it on.  He was frustrated with me for signaling the fire department to come out because he had gotten the fire out and thought we’d have to pay a hefty sum if they got here to just a home full of smoke.  I was frustrated with him for being angry at me for signaling them.  What I didn’t know was a) he had gotten the fire out completely. b) It wasn’t going to spread c) it wasn’t an electrical fire & d) that he believed we’d have to pay money for what I did.  We got into a 10 second argument about it and unfortunately in the midst of my stress and panic I made an assumption.

I assumed that as I ran out of the house carrying Rhys that Ransom would follow me.  He was just standing next to me a moment earlier clutching my leg.  As I got outside and took in a gulp of fresh air I heard Ransom inside the house screaming and crying at the top of his lungs, “Mama! Mama! Mama!”  I go back in to find him in our hallway in the same spot I left him, completely panicked.

Did you read that properly?  In the same spot, that I left him.  I left him.

I went back in, all 3 of us now gagging and coughing and we sat in the garage as I waited for Dave to figure out what to do next.  Ransom is too young to understand how awful I felt and without placing blame at all he managed to still communicate his feelings.  “Mama, I was scared.  I was so scared, Mama.”  I just started crying.  I should have made sure he was with me, I shouldn’t have assumed he’d follow me.  What if something worse would have happened.  I must have apologized to him 10 times and every time I got the same response, “I was just scared, Mama.”

I guess I understand a little bit better why they say you should never panic in stressful situations.  For some reason this small but very smoky fire produced a huge level of panic in both Dave & I and there was a major breakdown of communication as to what we should do.  For example, neither of us even considered getting our cats to safety until well after we were all out in the garage and it was too smoky to go back in for even 2 minutes.  Dave came out gagging after running in just to get my purse.

Needless to say, by the time I left with the kids to go grab some dinner I felt shaky, afraid, guilty, irresponsible, immature & full of anxiety.  We ended up driving around for 45 minutes because I was too flummoxed to even choose a restaurant.  Finally, Ransom said, “let’s just go to Target, Mama.”  Done.  It was a decision.  The Target Cafe makes a mean California salad!

Sadly, when I called Dave to tell him where to meet us he couldn’t because our other car got a flat tire!  What a crazy hot mess, eh?

Thankfully, the fire department came & helped get all the smoke and smell out.  Ransom, who is so thoughtful suggested we get them some dinner too.  While we were in the car needlessly driving around he started praying out loud, “God.  Help our house not to be on fire.  Help Jerri & Putty (our cats) not to get smoke sick.  Help our roof not to leak.  Keep Daddy and the fire men safe.  Amen, God.”  He’s such a sweetheart.

I had one of those defining moments last night.  You know the moment you have when you almost come close to something bad happening and you realize that even if the whole house burned down to the ground your okay because you still have your husband and your children?  Yeah, I had that moment last night.

Dave is vacuuming up the soot as I write this.  I’m so thankful tonight that soot is all we have to deal with today.