A couple of crucial points to this tale. 1. We live right next to my parents. 2. Next to corndogs, tortillas are a main staple in our family. 3. I always heat them up for about 15 seconds to make them easier to roll.
The other day, I ran over to my dads house to grab sometime that now is completely unremembered. I left Remi home watching the television. He is, after all, almost 4 years old. I was running 20 feet away, no big deal. My dad engaged me in some sort of distracting conversation. (Yes, I am blaming him, it is a lot easier.) I returned home to find smoke billowing out of my closed front door. Hysterical, thinking that our possessed computer had finally exploded, I ran into the house. I found Remi standing in front of the
microwave in a hypnotic trance. The microwave was running. It said 18:24. I have no idea how long it had been running but smoke filled my entire house. I shut it off and turned around expecting my sweet little 3 year old to be scared watching all the smoke. He, still in a trance says, "Mom, when you put tortillas in the microwave for a loooonnnng (stretching his arms wide for effect) time, it makes fire. Fire makes smoke. It is awesome!" Awesome? Are you kidding me? I have tried everything to get the smell of burnt tortillas and cinnamon (I boiled a bowl of cinnamon water for 10 minute increments for about 40 minutes. Not my finest moment.) out of my microwave. Rather than take responsibility for my actions, or lack there of, by leaving a toddler unattended, I have decided that it is the Mission Tortilla company that needs to be punished for the smell and taste I have endured for 3 weeks. They need to warn everyone. Tortillas are highly flammable. Now you know.
