I've always joked that I'm so dangerous in the kitchen that I might burn down the house. But I never thought that my cleaning could be hazardous.
Yesterday evening as I was running a bath for the girls, I started to smell smoke. It had the distinct smell of a campfire, but as far as I could tell, there was no campfire in our apartment.
"I smell smoke," said Jesse as she came out of the bathroom.
"Me too," I said.
"Look, mom! There's smoke by the lights in the kitchen."
Indeed, a layer of smoke covered the kitchen ceiling.
"It's coming from there!" Jesse exclaimed, pointing at the microwave.
"The sponges! The sponges must be on fire!"
I opened the microwave to find one sponge smoldering and the other a burnt ember. I tossed them in the sink and doused them with running water.
"Guess four minutes was too long," I told Jesse.
The day before Avo had told me that he saw something on TV about sterilizing sponges once a week by putting them in the microwave for two minutes. He tried it and it seemed to work.
After scrubbing the bathroom, I wanted to sterilize the sponges. I figured for two sponges, I'd add an extra minute. Seemed reasonable to me.
When Avo walked in the door, he immediately said, "It smells like smoke in here." Jesse excitedly recounted the dramatic tale of the fire. Of course, she was a hero for pinpointing the source of the smoke.
Amazingly, the microwave survived the ordeal. But the whole experience has put me off cleaning. Not sure when I'll be ready to face a sponge again. You never know when I might accidentally set it on fire.