The Kid decided she’d fix some microwaveable macaroni and cheese for her lunch yesterday. There I was nosing around the ‘net and blissfully tuning out whatever convo was going on behind me (if you’re a parent you know this is a much needed sanity-saving skill) when I suddenly smelled smoke.
Before I could even get the words out, Hubs dashed to the microwave and said, “It’s on fire!” He flung open the door and black smoke tumbled out. I rushed over to find a pitifully melted Kraft container with charred mac and cheese inside.
The Kid had some sense and stayed in the den…far away from the crime. I asked her did she add water to it. *crickets* “No,” she said slowly, “I forgot.” Clearly.
While Hubs was seconds away from throwing furniture, I was calm. I figured ish like that happens when you have kids. As a matter of fact, we adults do stuff like that, too. I know I’m good for a screw-up about twice a week!
What I’m not thrilled about is the lingering smell of smoke. Oh boy. The house went from smelling like a 5-Alarm Fire, to burnt trash, to a campfire, to burnt popcorn, to a cigarette buffet. I half expected kids to show up at our house with marshmallows on sticks asking where the campfire was.
Now, the air smells...burnt. Everywhere. No area in the house was spared. Thumbs up, Kid. Let’s not just smoke up the kitchen, but let’s perfume the entire house with Eau de Smoke. Way to get a job done.
Jeez. I hope Febreze can handle it because I'm going to need it...lots of it.