Okay, so the roof wasn't on fire...but the kitchen was.
Kristin, my lovely cousin-in-law, and I decided to spend a leisurely afternoon shopping. I needed some new summer clothes, but it was funny how I came home with a $10 shirt for myself, and several new outfits for the boys. I'm sure that happens for every mom out there. Well, I found the cutest shirt for Ben, but the last one (which happened to be Ben's size) was on the creepy mannequin kid. As Kristin and I are hijacking and undressing the mannequin as quickly as possible, Phillip calls me and asks what to do for dinner. "Cook the frozen pizza" was my reply. I'd say about 10 minutes passed until Phillip called me again a second time.
"What's in the oven?" he asked me.
"Uh, pizza?" Seriously, what kind of question is that?
"No, I mean, what was in the oven before the pizza?"
Oh crap. The events that unfolded this day were completely and totally the cat's fault (indirectly). Had we not had a thieving, cupcake stealing cat, the plastic serving container and leftover cupcakes would have been saved from the oven's blazing heat. You see, after having cake outside for Wyatt's party, my mom put the leftovers in the oven, just so that the cat would stay out of it. Since we don't use the oven as a storage place, I totally forgot about it. Phillip went to preheat the oven for the pizza, went outside with the boys for a while, then came back in to an oven on fire. Nice. The neighbors across the street lost their house due to a fire last summer. Now they have a spectacular, gorgeous home. I was thinking that maybe Phillip should have just turned around and went back outside. Heck, why not just take a walk down the street? But no, Phillip in his courageous fire-fighting efforts put out the blaze, and we still live in this awesome 1985 house. However, there is no dark chocolate fudge cake left. Sniff.
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