We got some cool fire implements while shopping the other night. Lots of candles from the clearance bins, a 14" lighter and one of those funky bend-it-over-to-light-deep-ones kinda lighter. It's been a 60s Love Den 'round here, ever since.
(I love how my memories of reactions to emergencies always seem so Jamie Sommers-esque, in my slowed down for effect yet highly efficient, heroic actions)
I'm at the computer and Hayden's in the other room. That smell. That smell. Once it hits that primordial cortex sumsuch in your brain, you must react. I know, too, in this moment, I've gotta slow myself down and breathe before, during and after any and all interactions with Hayden. My panic = His shutdown. So I ask, where is it? what is it? He says it was a napkin and he got rid of it. WHERE?? It's still smoking in here!! That was it. I yelled, he shut up. I had no time to negotiate. I followed my clues and pulled the sofa out and there was a lovely little smouldering corner! I calmly grabbed the cat's water and put it out. breathing, breathing, breathing. I opened the door to let the smoke out, so as not to alert anyone else in the house. I said, wow! that was scary. He agreed. I apologized for not remaining calm and began my justification/explanation, which was shut down quickly, as he doesn't want to talk about it. [unspoken ending: because you'll freak out.]
I need to freak out about it. Too bad I shot my wad on not-even-close-to-this-important stuff, so I don't have any turns left in this circumstance. I breathe. I know, I know, I know that fear is oftentimes the best lesson in itself, there's nothing a naggin' scared spitless mama can say that he didn't already have go through his mind in that split second of realization that he wasn't Safe. I bet it's an amazing tale from him though. I can't wait for him to tell me (and I'll be vewy, vewy quiet).
While snuggling up the other night, I did tell him that I understand he doesn't want to talk about it, and I'm okay that he doesn't want to talk about it right now but that eventually, we will talk about it. Now to bite my tongue until he believes it's safe to talk to me about it.
We did joke last night about peeing on it next time ;)
(I love how my memories of reactions to emergencies always seem so Jamie Sommers-esque, in my slowed down for effect yet highly efficient, heroic actions)
I'm at the computer and Hayden's in the other room. That smell. That smell. Once it hits that primordial cortex sumsuch in your brain, you must react. I know, too, in this moment, I've gotta slow myself down and breathe before, during and after any and all interactions with Hayden. My panic = His shutdown. So I ask, where is it? what is it? He says it was a napkin and he got rid of it. WHERE?? It's still smoking in here!! That was it. I yelled, he shut up. I had no time to negotiate. I followed my clues and pulled the sofa out and there was a lovely little smouldering corner! I calmly grabbed the cat's water and put it out. breathing, breathing, breathing. I opened the door to let the smoke out, so as not to alert anyone else in the house. I said, wow! that was scary. He agreed. I apologized for not remaining calm and began my justification/explanation, which was shut down quickly, as he doesn't want to talk about it. [unspoken ending: because you'll freak out.]
I need to freak out about it. Too bad I shot my wad on not-even-close-to-this-important stuff, so I don't have any turns left in this circumstance. I breathe. I know, I know, I know that fear is oftentimes the best lesson in itself, there's nothing a naggin' scared spitless mama can say that he didn't already have go through his mind in that split second of realization that he wasn't Safe. I bet it's an amazing tale from him though. I can't wait for him to tell me (and I'll be vewy, vewy quiet).
While snuggling up the other night, I did tell him that I understand he doesn't want to talk about it, and I'm okay that he doesn't want to talk about it right now but that eventually, we will talk about it. Now to bite my tongue until he believes it's safe to talk to me about it.
We did joke last night about peeing on it next time ;)
1 comment:
I lit a trashcan on fire when I was 16. I was playing with matches that I usually used to light my black eyeliner to get that great big black look and I didn't make sure they were out. My parents were out gardening and I very quietly kept running from the tv room to the kitchen and back with glasses of water. It didn't work. We got a new couch though, so that was cool.
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