Be Confident of This...

The house smells like something is burning... something like mistletoe.





Here's what happened.




I was reheating some leftovers in the toaster oven, using the toasting method. Some crumbs in the bottom got a little too toasty and caught on fire. I had read the "In case of flare up, do not open door. Unplug." sign on the cord many times. Well, I opened the door. I did unplug it. Then I just watched it for a second before calling, "Uh, Josh, there's a fire in here. Can you help me."



I'm sure he feels confident in his wife's ability to keep the house from burning down.



The mistletoe part comes from the Yankee candle that was burning at the time. I went to the store, came home and immediately smelled the burning plus the mistletoe. Near the dining room, a little bit of paint too.





What a week.



On Tuesday Josh worked late. It was not a good day for him to work late.



I had been peeling wallpaper for two days and needed a shower badly. While I'm in the shower, the kids are pounding on the door telling me Petite had climbed up in Mister's bed. He has bunk beds with a staircase. I quickly jump out of the shower, grab a towel and run down the hall to Mr.'s room. As I walk in the door, I hear Petite start crying. "She fell through the crack!" Mister yells. I assume she was on the bottom bunk and fell between the wall and bed. Wrong. She was on the top bunk and fell between the wall and bed and her plump little tushy caused her to get stuck between the window and the bed. So she's crying and I'm trying to wedge the poor thing out in nothing but a towel, thanking God that our home is surrounded by trees because the towel isn't staying on. TMI, I know, but that's the story.



But there's more. I hug and console my baby and set her down on the floor.I head to the bathroom to get a towel for my dripping wet hair. Petite shows up about 5 seconds later holding... broken glass. An ornament from the tree. I groan loudly and tell the kids to stay where they are because who knows where all the glass is. I fish the little pieces out of Petite's tightly wadded fist (while trying to keep the towel on) and carry her to my bedroom to keep her from stepping on glass. I set her down and she starts coughing and sputtering. Ug! I swab her mouth and catch a few little pieces of broken ornament. She's gagging. I'm saying "Don't swallow it!" like she can understand me.



If Josh were home, I'm sure I would have said, "Uh, Josh, Petite is gagging on glass. Could you help me in here?". And he would feel confident in his wife's ability to keep his children from killing themselves.



All of that in the span of like 2 minutes.



Those were the high points of the day, but lots of little things piled up. Josh called at 4 to tell me he would be maybe another 15 minutes, maybe another 2 hours (He got home at 7). I think, "Gee, I hate that paper mill sometimes" and the two horrific years he spent working at the other mill come back to mind. But then I make pumpkin pancakes for the kids' supper and everything is better.






So why a picture of a laundry basket? Well, I forgot to take a picture of Josh throwing a glass of water on the fire. And I was too busy trying to keep a towel on to take a picture of Petite wedged between the bed and the window.






And I'd like Josh to feel confident knowing that I haven't misplaced all his Under Armor socks. They are in that basket somewhere.