The Couch, the Stabbing, and The Grease Fire

This weekend reminded me of some of the perils of our sweet little life. We took Jude to a community center pool, which involved dressing him in cute swim trunks and a swim diaper. Daddy was in charge of getting dressed, and for some reason thought it would be okay on the couch. This was but a prelude of things to come.

Jude did a great job at the pool, and even went down the BIG SLIDE and around the WHIRLPOOL. He is unfazed by the many dangers of drowning and choking and DROWNING and dying. His mother and I are far more concerned, so we do the worrying for him. At one point Jude crawled to the edge of his floating duck-shaped kickboard thing and PUT HIS FACE IN THE WATER. He was fine.

Jude is such a big boy that he has graduated to the new monster size carseat. This is great news for Daddy, who won't throw out his back anymore carrying the bucket back and forth to the house. We got the Cadillac of carseats, the Britax Marathon, but of course his safety-conscious parents took it to the carseat clinic so that TRAINED PROFESSIONALS could assist in the installation.

First one in line on Saturday morning, I got a Beaverton Police Officer to help guide me through this highly technical process. Everything was going great, until we needed a small, sharp object to open the center seatbelt latch. Thinking ahead, I had brought along my trusty six inch folding pocket knife. The next part is something of a blur. I raised the knife at the exact moment that the Officer grabbed for one of the straps. This is the part where I STABBED HIM. In the hand. He called me a menace.

Finally, I broke out the barbecue for the first warm evening grilling of the season. Grandmom had just given us two freshly caught salmon steaks and we fired up Old Black for some propane and fire. I really should have cleaned this thing last season, or maybe even the season before. It has been building up a fine char on the grill, but I had neglected to notice how much grease had accumulated in the pan below.
Somewhere toward the end of the cooking process, flames started licking out from the lid. This was a bad sign.

I pulled off the food, turned off the propane, and then opened the lid to let the fire die out. I checked the grill a few minutes later, and this is when I noticed that the grease pan was in full flame. I ran upstairs to check the Joy of Cooking for hints on grease fires. No advice listed. Linden looked it up on the internet and sure enough, baking soda. Notice the empty box and deck stains and blackened broom.

I would just like to say that we are not the kind of parents who suffer for anxiety over doom and gloom. We are not overworried about intruders, germs, or car accidents. We do not own handguns for our own protection. In many ways, there is something freeing about letting go of that control. Of recognizing that every day is a gift, and that we are SO lucky to have our good health and our full lives. There is definitely some kind of appeal to the idea that we are protected by our own positive energy, or momentum, or white light.

But it doesn't hurt to give the angels a hand. I'll be cleaning the barbecue this afternoon. With my toothbrush. :)