Today I am feeling grateful for my grandmas, but for reasons you may not expect.
Let me preface some. I have become accustomed to letting our stove burners run to warm up our kitchen. Tom prefers to turn on and open up our toaster oven. To each their own, I suppose.
We formed this habit during winter months because we don't have control of our lovely radiator heaters. The landlord (I'm sure some random dude who works for the university) decides when it's cold enough to turn them on, and even then it's never on during the day. This has created many cold days in our carpetless, wall-hangingless, bare apartment. So don't think we're too weird for turning to kitchen appliances.
Back to present. This morning I decided I HAD to make rolls. I'm not sure why, but I really did HAVE to. I had no choice in the matter.
Even though it was a relatively warm day outside, I turned on a burner somewhat near the rising dough to keep that area of the kitchen from getting cold. Then I went about my day as usual.
Can you see where this is going? (I bet Tom's mom, Cyndy, can. She is really good at predicting the ending to a story).
Quite a while later, both kids were down for naps, and I was in my bedroom with the door closed. The weirdest thing happened. I became aware of a bee buzzing around near the ceiling. Within seconds of noticing it, it dropped like a rock to the floor.
A few minutes go by and I suddenly have a piercing headache. A few more minutes go by, and I think for a moment that I smell gas. But that couldn't be, I thought. I am all the way down the hall with the door closed. If I smelled gas, it would have to be BAD. Suddenly, the smell of gas in the room was so strong it made me nauseous to take in a breath. PANIC!
I rushed into the hall, and as I did so, so did Joni in a half-sleep, possibly half-gassed stupor. I ran to the kitchen and the stove flame was off, and of course the knob was still turned on. I played hero-mom and opened up all doors and windows. We will all live to see another day.
So now you see why I am grateful for my grandmas? Okay, maybe you don't. You see, I inherited all my strange traits, qualities, whatever you want to call them, from my grandmas. To name a few....freakishly long legs, sleep talking, abnormally thick hair, early gray hair, nervous sweat, and addiction to brown caffeinated beverages. None of these things are my fault.
My parents' mothers are completely to blame.
But I have left one out. A superb ability to smell. That's right... smell. If you have eaten anything within the last hour, I know what it was even if you're across the room. If your toast is burning, I'll be the first to alert you even if I am the furthest away from it.
And most importantly, if your (or my) house is about to explode, I WILL know about it. And I will save the day.