Fighting Fires

I looked at their plates.

Milk.

They still needed milk.

But, other than that and the black beans that would be done in a matter of minutes, these two toddler meals were done.

Theo and I talked as I poured the milks and I couldn’t help but feel happy and proud.

Adam’s hours had become long thanks to the hustle of late planting. But, here we were. Thriving. Making and eating good, healthy meals. Chatting with each other and listening to The Hamilton soundtrack. Happy.

We were so far from frantic and frozen dinners these kids had last summer accompanied a frazzled mother.

Theo shared that he would like a water too. Knowing to dodge the inevitable landmine, I took the time to ask him which cup he would like his water in. I would clearly pick out the wrong one if I took on this task alone.

As the blue Contigo bottle slowly filled from the refrigerator, I glanced to the pan on the stove.

I was heating a touch of oil in the pan that I cooked their quesadilla’s in for a little heat on the black beans. The kid’s drink orders were taking longer than I expected and I thought that all the oil may cook off by the time I got there.

After I divvied the many beverages out, I returned to the stove and the oil was still in the pan. It had not cooked off. I grabbed the colander of black beans that I rinsed under running water before the drink orders. I tilted it to pour the beans into the pan.

A few drops of water hit the oil. They popped, sizzled and danced across the pan.

Shoot.

Too hot, I thought and pulled my arm holding the colander back. I didn’t want to add the beans at this heat. They would burn or dry out.

Then, almost violently, a fire ball erupted from the pan.

Large orange flames leapt up, reaching my eye level and growing. They snaked up the backsplash and lapped around the oven’s hood.

My mind ran as I watched the fire take over my line of vision.

Oh my god. This is big.

Too big.

It’s not like a little flame on a tea towel or oven mitt that gets too close to the stove that I could easily blow out.

This is… a real fire.

The kids.

Adam’s not home.

I am alone and… there is a big fire in front of us.

The fire extinguisher? We have one. Under the sink. Why did I feel frozen? Under the sink!

Theo. Savannah.

Oh my God. This is bad.

Water? Something about water that might make this worse. Why can’t I remember? Think!

Smother? With what? These flames are huge. Climbing towards the ceiling.

Oh my god. This is it. This is really happening. Our house is on fire.

Our home.

Theo. Savannah.

Do something. Do something now or get out. Get the kids out!

For whatever reason, I grabbed the pan. Barehanded. Ablaze.

I got it off the stove top and away from the walls and held it in the center of the kitchen, just for a moment.

Better?

… Maybe?

Swiftly, I reached our large sink, flipped the pan and set it down. The flames went out immediately.

(For the record. This is not what you should do. More on that later.)

It was over.

I stood back from the sink in the center of my kitchen, finally able to breathe. Heart still racing, I looked at the stove top and backsplash. Black soot covered the white subway tiles and part of the cream cabinet.

Then, I looked over my shoulder to two toddlers.

Both of them stood there… horrified. And, almost as if on cue, they both started to wail. Screaming with terror.

The three of us crumpled onto the floor. I pulled them in as they jockeyed for the tightest hold on me. Theo pulled back and looked up at the stove. Screaming through tears, louder than I had ever heard from him before. Full of fear.

“That was a big fire!”

“I know, I know,” I soothed. “It was an accident. It’s over now.”

Trembling, screaming and wailing again, “That was a big, scary fire! Scary!”

“It was a scary fire. It scared me too,” I shared honestly, pulling him in tight.

It’s discussed a lot, the scary things about motherhood. There are viral Instagram posts and blogs sharing stories about all the things that “scare” us moms. They are all wrapped up with a bow stating, “But, momma. You are so brave!” “You do it anyway!” “You never let them see you break. That’s what being a mom is all about.”

Sure, these blogs are not typically talking about fireball’s exploding in kitchens…

They are more along the lines of the wild fear that comes over you after witnessing a positive pregnancy test; seeing your toddler excluded from a game at the playground; or, when hearing something bad on the news. It’s the fear of possibilities. The chance that something bad can happen and you- the mom- can’t stop it.

One of the strangest things I have now recognized as a parent is just how often my parents had to have been terrified.

But, they always seemed so cool. So brave. So all knowing. So on purpose. Growing up it felt like the things that scared me could never scare them.

In a way, this was great. It was great to know I had a protector. Someone who could save the day. Be brave when I wasn’t sure I could. With them, I knew I was safe.

But, while I feared monsters and bad dreams, they had their own monsters and bad dreams to deal with.

Turns out, our nightmares were actually quite the same.

Fears and anxieties don’t just disappear at eighteen, twenty-one or the day your own child is born. From my experience, they may even get more heightened at these milestones.

In the dark weeks that followed Theo’s birth, fear ran me. I feared I wasn’t the right fit for the job. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was making all sort of mistakes. I feared my labor and the complications that followed were a sign that I wasn’t meant to do this. I feared the world’s sharp edges. I feared the reality of this baby’s humanity and my own. My fear consumed my thoughts and my nightmares. These new monsters left me often in tears and with new, obsessive habits.

And, while the fog of that intense fear has lifted, a bit still lingers. I think I know enough now to know it will always be with me. My own set of monsters and nightmares to deal with every day.

“It scared me too” I repeated, kissing the top of Theo’s head as he pushed further into my chest. “It was a scary accident. But, we are fine.”

The blog advice to “never let them see you break” cross my mind.

No.

I will do everything in my power to make them feel safe. I will do my best to soften the edges and to make the monsters go away.

I will be brave, but my kids will know a mom that gets scared.

They will know a mom that makes mistakes. Who doesn’t know it all.

They will know this human side of me so that they know when they reach adulthood they have permission to be human too. They won’t fear these parts of them as much. They will know fear is good and normal and means they care enough- love enough- to have something to lose.

Sobs slowing, Theo through a sniffle confessed, “I thought that big fire was going to get you.”

His arms wrapped around my neck.

Oh, sweet boy.

Me.

In all that, he was worried about- scared for… me.

All the worries, fears and big love I have for him and he has it for me.

I pulled him close and kissed his head. I assured him I was fine and made him tell me he was too.

Turns out, our nightmares are actually quite the same.

And, that I am exactly the right fit for this job.

Writers Note: Oil and water truly don’t mix. What happened was the water still on the black beans from their rinse vaporized as they hit the hot oil in the pan. So, the water went from liquid to gas really quickly and created an explosion. These kinds of fires have ruined homes and contributed to third degree burns.

I don’t play the “God Thing” card often. And, I get the science of this, but… man. I can’t also help but see the magic in the fact we are all fine and the black soot wiped away with little effort leaving my kitchen looking like this never happened.

A few things to keep yourself prepared:

• Have pan lids close by
• Don’t use water to put out a grease fire. Use salt, baking soda, flour or a fire extinguisher
• Familiarize yourself with your fire extinguisher. After this, I looked at ours and was surprised by the weight of it. This could have proven to be a mess had I tried to lift it with just one hand.

And, yes. Don’t worry. The irony of nearly burning down my kitchen is not lost on me. Adam had a good laugh about this. “You, basically a chef!” Ha. Ha. Accidents can happen to anyone.

Happy and safe cooking!