December 7, 2010 by Marj Hatzell
The good news? Everyone is fine, no one is hurt.
That’s how the conversation started Saturday night. The Guy I Live With and I went out to dinner with my Seester, other Seester and Brother-in-law and were yucking it up when my phone range (the teenager across the street was babysitting).
Um. Everyone’s fine. No one is hurt.
Uh oh. This should be good.
And Bug Boy knew where the fire extinguisher was kept and knew how to use it.
Do I want to know this? Stay calm. Stay calm.
And there’s this white stuff everywhere and we have the windows open and there’s a bit of a mess and it’s all over the dishes you just washed.
Yeah, so, small kitchen fire. The good news? There was some smoke and a ton of extinguisher powder all over the kitchen and that was pretty much the extent of the damage. Well, and no one was hurt, blah, blah, blah. The stove works fine, the house doesn’t stink and there is nothing permanent. The bad news? THE WHOLE HOUSE IS COVERED IN WHITE POWDER. As in, every surface in the kitchen, every cabinet, all of the appliances, the knife block, the mixer, the food processor, the floor, the ceiling, the kitchen table (and everything on it), the curtains. You get the idea. Everything. And when I went from room to room there was a fine white powder on that, too. So basically the whole house needed to be wiped down and cleaned. And it needed to be wiped and cleaned before the whole firextinguisher-burnt-nachos-too-close-to-the-broiler-incident. So no real harm done there. Except, you know, annoying white powder everywhere.
Which is what I did all day Sunday. On two hours of sleep, because Bugaboo decided it was a good night to stay up and party. KIDDING! He is up almost every Saturday Night into Sunday because he doesn’t go to school that day and he’s all kinds of off schedule and discombobulated and whatnot. See the big words I can use when I’ve had no sleep? I also know what disconcerting and ominous and bothersome and exasperating and vexatious. And tedious. Which are all words to describe the six-hours of cleaning and wiping I did in the kitchen Sunday. On two hours of sleep. And then my husband left for Belgium (pleaseohpleaseohpleasebringmechocolateskthxbai) and I was overwrought and incapacitated. And I still have cleaning to do two days later because HELLO, BUG BOY’S BIRTHDAY. Ten years old. Many young boys invading my house. Which means I must at least make it presentable (decorous) and stuff. Right? You know, so they don’t go home covered in fine white powder and someone mistakes my humble abode for a crack house.