Sometimes my kids are home alone. (Yes, I'm that kind of mother.) Thanks to the constant companionship of my cell phone, they are able to call if there is a problem or question. More often than not, however a phone call from home is a report that that so-and-so is being mean or won't share the blah blah blah. About a month ago I got three such calls in succession during a work training. After the third, I firmly explained that these situations were not emergencies and that they needed work things out on their own. I did not want to be interrupted again for anything that didn't involve a lot of blood or fire.
Today my cell phone vibrated during a meeting at Todd's school. I walked out of the room grinding my teeth assuming my refereeing skills were required in some minor sibling combat. NOPE. Turns out there was an emergency. A fire. Kenna calmly explained that while she was heating some rice, she saw sparks and was now observing a small combustion inside the microwave. Her question was should she continue to watch it or try to put it out? REALLY?!! A FIRE?!! Yeah, yawn. So, should she let it burn or do something? She sounded less concerned than if the TV remote were missing. I told her to put a wet rag on the small flame which she did while I stayed on the phone. Okay, it was out. Thanks for the help. Click.
(Incidentally, the culprit was a tiny, metal hinge in the random plastic container she had chosen to heat her rice in.)