3/5/2008 House on Fire

As some of you might know I have been sick for the better part of the past four months. Having a small child is like having a spongy bacterial growth hanging around your face all the time, a thriving microcosm you have to kiss and clean up after. Because kids are made up of germs and junk they usually suffer minimally when they get sick, but older people like myself experience the full blow of the version of the sickness which God intended, and we complain a bunch making it that much worse.

Yesterday evening, still functioning despite the helium build-up in my head pressing on the backs of my eyes and ears, I was counting down the seconds till Jason came home from school so I could collapse. Amongst a chorus of "Daddy! DADDY!! Daddy? DAAAddy", (each with it's own sentiment of bewilderment, confusion, joy, or betrayal) Jason took Fox into the kitchen for a snack. Before I went to bed I told Jason that I had started cooking a chicken for soup and it was on the stove, and I assumed this was adequate information.


I slept soundly and peacefully for 46 minutes until I was awoken by some weird alarm which I didn't immediately recognize. When it didn't stop after a few moments I decided I had better see what was going on. As I opened the door I realized that something was on fire, bad. The smoke was so thick that I couldn't tell what time it was, and Jason and Fox were no where to be seen, luckily I guess. At that moment I remembered the chicken and ran into the kitchen where the chicken was smoldering in the near molten pot. It was all a-glow. The thing was seconds from bursting into flames! I was so glad to have left the batteries in that one smoke detector! All the others are in Fox's toy cars and remote controls.

When Jason came back in the house with Fox (after I had turned on all the fans, opened the windows, soaked the pot...) he yelled "DON"T YOU SMELL THAT???" While running towards the kitchen. As annoying as his tone and words were so late in the game, I had to answer that "no" I didn't smell it. Not even a little. And thanks for almost burning me up in my sleep.

Asking Jason to share responsibility in anything is like asking Tyra Banks to preform your own brain surgery. He doesn't possess that "thing" which makes a person transform potential situations into precautionary behaviors. He lost $400 in cash last week, too. Luckily I did find the money, but if I have $400 in cash I know exactly where it is at all times of my possession of it! Jason just sort of tossed it into the closet (which is the closet version of this):

and later asked me "what did you do with that money I put in the closet??"


I may never understand that man, but the above picture should be his avatar.