Welcome to My World

Regardless of where we are, life comes at us. If we want to cherish the moments, they tend to pass us by faster than we can savor them. If we would rather skip a day, it seems to linger endlessly. But life is what it is, and we have to make the most of what we have and focus on the good aspects, large or small, to truly relish our life.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Just Blowing Smoke

Rare is the person in this day and age who hasn't heard the addage, "he's just blowing smoke."  It's a common enough term, but what does it mean?  Well, simply put, it is a metaphor for some harmless comment or action.  After all, smoke without the fire is rather harmless, is it not?  If there's not a fire then all is well and no danger is present.  Or is there?

Interestingly enough, I have been rather much of a clutz lately.  The entire summer has been filled with bumping this or that, falling here or there, and I was thrilled on Monday when I actually started to feel more like myself again.  The children were back to school, all but Gabriela, so I had time to actually get some housework done.   I've had to take it easy for quite some time, and it felt good to get down and dirty again.

Since it's been a very long time, I decided I was going to make some fried chicken.  I had corn and fresh garden beans and I was going to have an honest to goodness down home Southern cooked meal for a change.  I had everything ready and I felt like I was earning my keep again, if you know what I mean.

I shucked the corn and got it ready to boil, had the beans about ready to go, and all that was left was to fry the chicken while all else was cooking.  So I poured the oil in the deep cast iron pot and turned on the heat.  While I waited for it to get to the appropriate temperature, I set about making the batter for the chicken.  I had all the spices and ingredients on the counter in front of me and had already added the flour, salt, and pepper when suddenly the pot started putting off an extremely insane amount of smoke.

My instant reaction was to turn off the electric eye, but I already had a weird feeling in my gut.  No sooner had I put the lid on top then the entire right side burst into flames from the handle to the eye and on up to the bottom of the vent overhead.  I grabbed the baking soda and had a sudden blank:  Was I supposed to use baking soda or baking powder?  I grabbed the phone to call the fire department but all I got was a busy signal.  I figured it wasn't an emergency and could put it out myself if only I could remember.  So I called my mom who immediately told me it was the soda.

Looking back, I'll never forget:  you douse it with soda (as in pour it on), which I threw in great quantity at the stove.  After several attempts, I had thrown enough on to completely saturate the stove and put out the fire.  Whew!  The fire was out.  But the smoke was insane!  White billowing rolls so thick that I could hardly see and I was coughing from it already.

The older 3 children were outside playing and Gabriela was in the family room.  I knew by the facts that my eyes were watering and that I couldn't see my shoes that I had to get her out of the house before her little lungs got filled with the smoke.  I ran into the family room but didn't see her there.  I called to her but got no answer.  I grabbed a cloth and wet it, covering my mouth and nose as I called and searched for her.  Finally I heard Nyssa say that she had wandered outside already.

Thank goodness for that!  I quickly ran outside.  By this time, the garage was also filled with the white, dense smoky cloud and I told the children to move far away and onto the other side of the tree line in the front yard.  No way were we going to eat inside the house after that.  I told the kids to stay put and then, with the damp cloth in hand, ran back inside to grab my purse, keys, and to open the front door and a couple windows.  By time I ran out the front door, I was in another coughing fit, no matter how I held my breath while inside.  My throat felt like I had screamed myself hoarse and was burning lightly.

I did get the fire department to come let me know how long before it was safe to enter again.  When they got there, an hour later--I had actually waited for my mom to come help watch the kids and drove over to the department down the street since the emergency was over--white puffs were still billowing out the garage and out the front door, rolling into the garden.  Poor Sajak II, the stuffed dalmation in the front hallway was not visible from where we stood because of the roils.

Of course the firemen had me describe what happened and show them the kitchen so they could report it.  The pot on the stove still registered on the stove at over 300 degrees!  They took it, armed in their garb, and set it on the driveway, ready to extinguish any fire that may have threatened to appear.  One of them led me back to the truck to give a statement and to check me out.  He, along with his chief a couple minutes later, asked me if I was a smoker, which I am not.

Amazingly enough, in that very short amount of time, my carbon monoxide levels from the smoke inhalation was high enough to be concerned.  An hour after first exiting the house, my levels were over 7%.  I was put immediately on some oxygen to help bring it down.  To put things into perspective, anything over 2% is not desired but acceptable, 5% is unsafe, and smokers who average 2 packs a day may have a range of 9%.   Because of my levels, the fire chief called an ambulance to have the hospital check me for internal damage.

Three hours after admittance, following oxygen, albuterol to keep me breathing right and to keep my pulse up (even with the albuterol my heart rate was 87), 5 electrodes stuck to my body, an oxygen monitor on my right ring finger, and an artery stick to check my blood levels, I was pronounced safe enough to go anywhere but home, in order to give the smoke time to clear, as long as I promised to avoid smokers like the plague while my lungs and throat heal.  Fortunately, there was no major burns from the heat since the fire didn't last very long.  The carbon monoxide and cyanide were the big culprits in my burning breathing.

I came home for a few minutes yesterday to get some things but stayed too long. I could tell when it started to burn while breathing and my left hand swelled up all red and itchy and burning.  My hand returned to normal an hour after I left, though it still burns to breath at times.  After having the windows open and the attic fan running for 2 days, my children and I have finally been allowed back in my own home.

So as far as the cliche' that there's no trouble if there's smoke as long as there's no fire, I'm not too sure about that anymore.  See, even the smoke itself can cause poisoning, in the center of life where you breathe, in your bloodstream.  Just because one has no external scarring from the burns of a badly said word or negative action, even if done in jest, that cannot show the internal damage that has been done, whether temporary or permanent.  Either way, it takes time to heal from that kind of wound as well.

I am grateful that as soon as I saw the smoke I was able to act.  Nyssa started to come in the house to see what was going on when she saw the thick billowing clouds.  I had to be forceful with her to let her know that even though the fire was gone, the smoke that remained was still harmful and that she needed to stay away from that danger.  With her sensitive airways, it could have been very costly.

At first my children were like the people who can ignore the dangers of metaphorical smoke because they didn't realize the harm it can cause.  They saw no fire.  They just had to trust me when I told them that the smoke which was being blown was dangerous and deadly just the same.  In the same way, it is safest to stay a safe distance from the house that is enveloped by the poisonous gases so that we don't get burned and to heed the warning of those we trust.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Free Flowing Baby Powder

The last few months have been one big blur.  I wake up to find that the rest of the school year has passed me by along with most of the summer.  In less than a week, school begins again and I will find myself alone with only one child at home during the day.  Oh where has the time gone?

Has it been an empty half of a year?  Has nothing interesting occurred?  On the contrary, it has been so busy that the time flew before I knew what was happening.  I must say that I am somewhat ashamed of my silence.  I know there are a few out there who read my blogs and I feel I have failed you in some way.  This was not my intent; I simply didn't feel like writing.

I know that doesn't sound like me.  Normally I love expressing myself on my keyboard.  But life has been rather interesting to me and, well to put it bluntly, I don't like to be a downer.  It's been rough and I like to be encouraging, uplifting, instead of an old stick in the mud.  I have found it hard to find the silver lining at times, though I know it's there.  I guess it's like Pollyanna, if you've ever seen the movie, in which she finds herself unable to see the positive in life for a while.  While I do find those good things, I have been either too tired to type when I do, or unable to get to the computer.  In fact, until this week, I hadn't even checked my facebook in several months (which is very unusual for me).

As it turns out, though, I did find myself at the bottom of the stairs last week, stunned into silence, with my children gathered around me and giving me gentle hugs.  I was in a bit of a daze at the time, and I was shock still, seeing absolutely nothing.  Of course, I suppose it was so dark because my eyes were shut tight.  Perhaps I should go back a little further.

Last Tuesday evening I was at home recovering from some shots in my neck, downstairs watching the Olympics.  The children had all been tucked in their beds, except for Nathaniel, who was sound asleep on the couch next to me.  Aside from the games on the television, there was not a sound in the house.   You know, come to think of it, that should have been my first clue.

As I was saying, it had been a peaceful evening when we heard the smallest of sounds emanating from the upstairs.  It was the sound of our youngest, making a gleeful noise.  Richard and I looked at each other and realized that perhaps not all was as still as we had supposed, so he started making his way upstairs.  I got up slowly from my seat as we both noticed a scent wafting down the stairs.

"They're playing with something," he stated.  He has a gift for stating the obvious at times.
"It's baby powder," I shrieked with certainty.
"Yep, I see it now."  Then, in his booming daddy voice, "Somebody's about to be in trouble!"

Well, by this time, shrieks were let out from all directions upstairs and I looked at the ground below me at the landing.  The white residue was already staking its claim on every visible surface...and this was downstairs!

It was easy to see the room of origin.  Athos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan were covered from head to toe in their pajamas swelling as baby sweet as can be.  The boys' room was a cloud of white so thick we could not even see to the beds.  Talcum snow lay thickly on the beds, carpet, and toys.  There was no way anyone was going to sleep in that room that night.

Nyssa and Gabriela were stripped down and set in one bathtub while Benjamin was left with not even his skivvies and placed in the other.  While they were busy making white mud, hubby and I were left to vacuum up the carpets and get as much of the powder up as we could.  The poor betas in the hallway had to have their water changed thrice because of the thickness that had saturated their tanks.  Even the inside of the aquarium stand had to be cleaned out; the powder had even saturated through the cracks.  The toys had to be wiped down, as did the stairs and the downstairs floor.  The children, complete with pruned hands and feet were eventually rescued from the milky water and put to bed a second time, all in the girls' room.

Meanwhile, through the sound of the shrieks, past the running water of both bathtubs, and in spite of the vacuum cleaner roaring over his head, our dear Mr. Man lay unsuspecting in a deep, peaceful slumber.  Normally he is the one who jumps at any odd sound.  He runs out the door from a noise too loud.  Yet this time he lay there, hearing nothing, sleeping contentedly inside the cocoon of his thick orange blanket on the couch in the family room.

The next day nobody was allowed in the boys' room until I had given it a thorough wipe down and washing.  I vacuumed the floors once again and wiped down the stairs a couple more times, as well as the wood on the first floor.  While Nathaniel was allowed to play on the computer, and watch a video, the other three were denied that privilege and had to help me wipe down the downstairs hall yet again.  I thought we had done a pretty good job at getting rid of most of the baby powder.

Evidently, pretty good is not the same as good, excellent, or effective.  Friday morning, after breakfast, I went upstairs to get the boys' clothes.  The way I came back downstairs was not the way I intended.  All it took was one slippery spot and down I went.  I went down them as surely as if I had decided to go down a slide, hitting my backside on every single step as I slid.  I did try a couple times to catch myself, but all I succeeded in doing was breaking a few blood vessels in my arms and whacking my neck.

"Oh God, please help me stop falling!" I cried at one point.  Well, he did, once I hit bottom.  'course it would have been a real miracle if I had kept falling at that point.  By that time, all four kids were at the bottom of the stairs checking on me.  There was no way to miss hearing the elephant crash.  Poor Nathaniel came over to me and gave me a gentle hug.  I knew it was him not by sight but rather by his voice in my left ear saying, "You're going to be okay, Mommy."

I knew he was worried because he almost never calls me Mommy anymore, nowadays it's just plain Mom.  The other kids crowded around but took his cue and were gingerly touching me and asking if I was alright.  I slowly opened my eyes and said, "Yes, Mommy's going to be fine.  I'm very sore right now, but I'll be ok in a bit.  I'm just going to sit here for a minute."

Benjamin asked me how I fell and it was one of the hardest things I had to do, but felt it was the right thing to say.  I just looked him straight in the eye and said, "You know the baby powder?  We tried to clean it all up, but some fell on the stairs and I slipped on it."  A trip to the ER and a couple days later, the children are seeing the effects of their disobedience and I'm reaping the consequences.

Sometimes we do things rashly, impulsively, caught up in the moment with no regard to the consequences.  Often we make those choices when we know we should be somewhere else.  To put it bluntly, we often make those choices while walking in disobedience or in doing what we know is wrong.  There are times when we get away with it.  There are times when we suffer the consequences.  Then there are times when others suffer the greater consequence of our actions.  Sometimes, the consequences themselves can be quite painful and take a while to heal.  When we take something that we know is off limits, that we have been told is off limits, and go out of our way to get it and play with it, it just may end up in a cloud of residue that leaves a lasting impression that can hurt more than just ourselves.  It can end up crippling someone else.