So, this funny thing happened today. Funny in an I-almost-died sort of way.
It snowed about a foot here this morning, and the kids have had bad colds. When Addie woke up, I decided I'd make blueberry pancakes, because her usual blueberry yogurt--which she eats every day of her life--is phlegm-producing, and always leaves her shivery and cold. And pancakes sounded cozy and warm.
I'm standing in front of the stove, flipping pancakes and commenting to Eric how I've always been sort of nervous about gas burners, because I'm scared that I'll lean over too far and light myself on fire. To illustrate how such an ignition could occur, I twirled the tie of my terry cloth bathrobe around a few times. I told him I had been particularly afraid of lighting myself on fire when I was pregnant, because I couldn't see my belly very well.
Not sixty seconds later--no kidding about that--I was on fire. I didn't know it at first, but noticed Addie looking at me strangely (still shoveling pancakes into her pie-hole, though). A split second later I smelled smoke and then Eric was batting at me and I was skedaddling out of the robe as fast as I could and hopping around like a maniac. I thought at first my hair was on fire, but it wasn't. Actually, everything was fine. As soon as the robe hit the floor, the fire put itself out, and I didn't get burned at all. I'm not even sure which part of the robe was on fire. I haven't wanted to look at it.
Our reaction to this bit of excitement was to laugh that nervous, giggly laugh you get when something crazy has just happened and you've narrowly averted major disaster. "Wasn't I just saying that I didn't want to catch myself on fire? And then I was on fire? Phew! Close one! Have a good day at work, honey! Drive safe!"
Addie just kept asking what happened, still cramming pancake into her mouth, but mostly was unfazed. I, however, am still a little shook up. We'll have yogurt tomorrow.