"Mommy! Call the firemen!"

I almost burned my kitchen down today. (Is it burned? or burnt?)

I turned the oven to 400 degrees with intention of cooking some fish for lunch. (That's what I get for trying to eat healthy!) I went into G's room to check my email, and I left the kids in the dining room to eat their lunch. After a few minutes I hear G getting upset because he's finished his ravs and now wants down. I walk into the dining/living room and I see the flames inside my oven. OMG!

I immediately know why my oven was on fire. On Sunday, prior to everyone coming over, I shoved a baking sheet with a few dirty dishes into the oven to get it out of my way. I then threw in a muffin pan and a place mat that were also dirty. I specifically told myself not to forget that they were in there. Really. I said it out loud and everything. And yet, I forgot.

The flames were a good 8 inches high, but contained in the oven. I ran to the garage to get a fire extinguisher while calling B at the same time because I didn't know where one was. I was freaking out (cussing like a sailor) trying to find one and B's phone just kept ringing and ringing, eventually going to voice mail. I ran into the kitchen and moved the kids out to the living room, then put Spike in the laundry room. I ran back into the garage and found an extinguisher that looked as though it was 10 years old. "I hope if I need this, it still works," I said.

Ella is yelling from the living room, "Mommy! Call the firemen! Call the fire woman!" Grayson was still in his high chair, but knew something was wrong and was getting mad.

The flames in the oven were almost gone, so I just stood there waiting. I knew better than to open the oven door. The less oxygen the fire has, the better. So with no visible flames, I opened the oven door a crack. Smoke just poured out. I closed it, opened the windows in the kitchen, then ran to the shed to get the only non-ceiling fan that we own, and put it in the doorway to the garage with the garage door open. I opened the oven door again and let some more smoke out.

Ella was freaking out, so I put her and Grayson in E's room and told her not to open the door. I went back into the kitchen and opened the oven door again, this time leaving it open. Most of the smoke had cleared, but the smell! Oh the smell! Most of the dishes survived; there were a few sippy cups that needed to be thrown out though. The place mat had melted and landed on the heating element at the bottom of the oven causing the flames. I pulled out the bottom rack that had the muffin pan and melted place mat on it, and put in out in the garage. "Brady's never gonna let me live this one down, " I thought.

I decided that the smell was just so strong, that I would get the kids ready and we would leave the house for a while. As we were leaving the house, Ella said to me, "I'm really gonna miss my house, Momma. I'm really gonna miss our dishes." She repeated these thing for the next few hours. I tried to tell her that everything was gonna be ok, and that we'd get new cups at the store.

We went to Wendy's for some lunch and ate in the car under a shady tree in the parking lot of Target before we went in to wander aimlessly for a few hours. I had gotten a hold of B and told him what had happened and told him not to bother saying anything ignorant about my memory. I already felt bad enough about the situation anyway. This was the second time I had started a fire in the kitchen. The first happened when we first moved in. I turned on what I thought was the back burner and it was really the front. I had left a pot holder sitting over the front, and it started smoking with some small flames. I hate electric stoves/ovens!

When we got home, the smell was gone. Thank goodness! Brady came home and he cleaned out the oven for me, and tried to get the rest of the plastic off the oven rack I had left in the garage. The smell was so overwhelming for me, I couldn't do it. He also told me that it was a good thing I didn't use the extinguisher I had found in the garage because it is a Halon/Nitrogen extinguisher. Ella just came to me and said that she hopes no more of our dishes are smoking. She said she didn't like the smoke. Great. Now I've emotionally scarred my child for life.

We are all ok, and the oven will work again. We might have to get a new heating element for it, but it'll work. I think I need a vacation.

* Did I fail to mention that since Spike has been home from her spaying, she has had post-surgery diarrhea? Good times. Good times!