That's about the time I got the call. My cell phone rang and rang. I was annoyed. My kids shouldn't call when I'm working. Dad can handle emergencies. My phone rang 4 times. Starting to worry, I clicked the answer button and this is what followed:
(Really loud sirens)
Tuna: COME HOME NOW MOM!! YOU HAVE TO COME HOME NOW!
Me: WHAT'S WRONG?? What's happening?!
Tuna: THE HOUSE IS BURNING!
What happened next is blurry, but still seared into my memory forever. We went through the necessary questions- Where is everyone? Where is Dad? Is everyone ok? What happened? The kids were with the neighbor. Dad was with the firefighters. The house was burning down. Flames were coming out the windows. There was smoke everywhere. "COME HOME NOW MOM! NOW!"
I left everything and ran for my car. Some sweet lady packed up my laptop and helped me out the door. I don't know how I backed out of the driveway without hitting anything. The drive home was the longest, most frustrating experience of my life. There was one more phone call home to Tuna. It ended with "the dogs are burning to death, Mom."
I cried hysterically at my mother. I drove with a death grip on the wheel. My hands were shaking. My body was shaking. I have never felt such terror and helplessness. I was just driving. Crying. Shaking. Rambling at my mother on the cell phone. Cussing construction traffic. Then I was in a friend's car. Frantic. Shaking. Then pulling into my subdivision. Onto my street. I didn't want to see...I was afraid to see...what would I see?
There were firetrucks. Bright lights. People everywhere. Family. Friends. Neighbors. Firefighters. My KIDS! The DOGS!! The dogs were out of the house. They were covered in soot, wet and scared, but there they were sitting on the driveway. There was my husband...my best friend. He was wet, smoky, shaking...we were crying...we were all together, one big lump of smoky, wet, sobbing family.
Nobody knew what had happened. They had gone to the store to get rice. Returned to smoke alarms going off. Door was hot. Smoke rolled out of the door. Hubby had tried to fight it with the water hose until fire department arrived. Firefighters were throwing parts of my kitchen on the front lawn onto a tarp.
That was it. Right there, in the course of an hour, my whole life was upended. Everything was off kilter, unbalanced, unfamiliar, bizarre.
There were people everywhere. Hugs. Tears. Plans being made. Emergency shelter arrangements. Red Cross volunteers. Bags of toiletries. Calls to the insurance company. Dogs going to the emergency vet. Hubby on oxygen. Chaos. Complete chaos.
The Fire Chief approached. He said he would take me into the house and show me the damage and explain where the fire started. Oh dear God. Help me. It was the Crock Pot. Either the wiring, or the outlet, but definitely the Stupid Crock Pot. (we know now it was the cord)
And suddenly, this was life as I knew it-
|My Kitchen- After the Stupid Crock Pot|