Dad blew up the microwave

It started with a pancake.

Don't under estimate the pancake. They can cause a lot of trouble.

Last Saturday morning was very crazy, with kids having to go in all different directions for different activities and mom at work. I was trying to get them ready and popped a plate of left over pancakes in the microwave to heat up for breakfast for the youngest two. They drag their feet sometimes when offer toast or oatmeal. But never an argument with pancakes. I couldn't lose.

I walked out of the kitchen for a moment to check and see how the 'getting ready' progress was happening in the boys room, shoes getting on, teeth getting brushed, all that. On my way I looked over my daughter's shoulder who was at the computer watching a home made lightsaber battle video on Youtube. Quite a well done one, at that.

While I was watching, Lemur came into the room to stand beside me.

"Dad, I think you should come see this," he said, obviously referring to something in the other room.

"What, buddy?" I asked, unsure of what little nothing of a something had caught his focus, derailing his progress.

He saw what was playing on the computer, and his interest was immediately diverted.

"After this." he said, and settled in to watch the rest of the video with us, huddled around the monitor.

After a moment, I began to hear the beeping of the smoke detector, like it was thinking about starting to scream.

Immediately, I went to investigate. As I turn the corner into the kitchen, I see smoke rolling out of the still going microwave! Lemur is right behind me.

"That's what I was going to show you."

(We have since had several discussions about how if smoke is coming out of ANYTHING, that is NOT a discussion that can wait---even if there is a good video playing on Youtube. )

Looking at the cooking timer, there is still 7 minutes counting down. Somehow, while intending to set it for 30 seconds like I have done a million times before, I had set it for 10 minutes or something instead.

I hit the door button to stop the cooking. A heavy, thick, acrid cloud of black tar like smoke floped heavily out of the front of the oven and began to take over the room. I rush to the back door and open it, hoping to create a cross current to take this nastiness outside. As I get just around the corner from the kitchen, opening the door to the outside, I hear a noise behind me that sounds like an armload of plates had just been dropped on the floor.

Turning to run back into the kitchen I holler, "What was that!??"

A wide eyed Lemur is standing in the other door to the kitchen, with a fascinated, bemused and slightly shocked look on his face.

"The plate blew up!"

I looked on the floor and it was littered with a all different sized fragments of Correl plate. Inside the blackened microwave there were more. Apparently the plate had gotten very hot, and when I opened the door it had begun to cool too fast. The pressures pushing against itself, expanding and contracting like a crazy science class demonstration, had caused such tension in the plate that it had exploded, blasting all over the kitchen. I was so glad that for once my kids had exercised some wisdom to stay out of the kitchen as I ran through. I can't stand to think of what could have happened if they had wanted to get a closer look at the devastation.

The Bear was in the living room, standing in front of the T.V. watching cartoons, as I made my way to open the front door and get the air flow moving.

"My throat is scratchy," he said, doing a funny little dance while not taking his eyes off the cartoons for a moment.

I ushered them all to a place in the house where the smoke wasn't flowing and opened some more windows so they could take in some fresh air.

I unplugged the oven and took it to the garage. There was no saving it now. Even if we could clean it up, everything we cooked in there from now on would have a slight taste of ashtray. So out it went, pancakes and all. They were still just setting inside, two little black disks. They hadn't burned up like in a fire with a flame. They just turned into perfectly shaped pancake charcoal briquettes, like left over special effects from an Indiana Jones movie.

Later that morning, leaving the house with the lingering smell of mistake, I went to the ever present Wal-Mart to find a replacement oven for the recently deceased. If I hadn't, I think we may have starved to death. One thing I learned after carting the new one home and setting it up in our kitchen---those things look a lot smaller on the store shelves.

So now I have this monolith in our kitchen that mocks me every time I walk through. This monument that tries to politely hide it's smile when I come into the room, but I can tell what it's thinking. . . "You are such an idiot".

The next day as we were trying to get ready for church, I was dealing again with the challenges of getting bodies out the door in the morning and tried to re-play my trump card breakfast offering, determined this time not to mess it up.

But, alas, I no longer have a sure fire winner in my morning meal arsenal. Bear's only reply to the offer. . .

"No! Pancakes blow up!"