Do As I Say

Ben clenched his fingers around Sophia’s chunky little arm, “I’m going to count to five,” he told her, “and you’re going to take a deep breath and give that toy back to me.” Not exactly what I had in mind when I promised myself upon Ben’s birth that I would lead by example.

Naturally, Sophia didn’t give up the toy. So Ben came up with a better, more subtle idea. He told her that the toy she had in her hand was a boy’s toy and asked her if she would like one of the “princess” toys he was now holding in exchange. That worked. (It appears I lead by negotiation.)

As a parent of two toddlers (and an infant), I spend a lot of my time giving out instructions… (or nagging). Sit up straight. Don’t hit. Use your words. Call 911 in an emergency. Don’t eat too many cookies. Wipe. Flush. Brush.

But really, did I flush every time? Was I eating too many cookies? And more importantly, did they notice? Was any of it really sinking in?  I hardly had the time or energy, really, to ponder what other types of behaviors my children were learning from me.

The following Saturday morning presented a whole new set of actions to contemplate. It was my husband’s morning to sleep in and I had things pretty well under control. Ben (4) and Sophia (3) were watching cartoons and the baby (5 months) was sleeping in his infant seat in the kitchen. It was approaching 9:00 am – almost time to wake up daddy – and I decided to get breakfast going. Waffles I thought.

I slid two frozen waffles into the toaster and pushed down on the handle. Within seconds, flames were shooting from the toaster cord, melting it. The fireworks display ended with a burst of electrical sparks and ashes dusting the kitchen.

In retrospect, it was the perfect opportunity to demonstrate our fire emergency procedure to the kids. At the time, however, I diverged a bit from our official “family plan” (which is to get everyone out of the house, go to the neighbor’s and call 911). Instead, I opted to jump up and down screaming, “Oh my God, Oh my God.”

Though the fire was out, I realized that the circuit breaker connected to the outlet (the GFCI) didn’t pop – which could mean that the toaster itself, a nice shiny chrome, could be electrically charged. Gathering my composure somewhat, I told Ben to stay out of the kitchen and stay far from the toaster as it might be “live.” Sophia was too absorbed in the cartoons to have even noticed the commotion.

I ran to the basement to check the circuit panel. When I discovered that the main circuit breaker was not turned off, I really panicked. I became convinced that the toaster was electrically charged or that a fire was smoldering behind the wall.

What to do now? Call 911? Get the kids out of the house? No. Continued panic seemed the obvious choice. I went to the bottom of the stairs to yell for my husband to get up. After all, this is why I got married. I peppered my ranting with words like “fire,” “electrocution,” and “get down here now.”

My husband, who of course had been in a deep sleep, catapulted out of bed, sped down the hallway, and fell down the stairs. Though he made a truly heroic effort, he lay helpless and momentarily paralyzed on the landing. During all this, Sophia had migrated to the bottom of the stairs to do a puzzle. She looked up at my incapacitated husband and greeted him with a gentle, “Good morning, Daddy.” 

I was still running in circles when I noticed Ben was missing. I bolted down the hall afraid that he might go near the “toaster of death.” And then I saw him leaving the kitchen. He was, donning his red plastic fire helmet and black rubber boots. In his hands he held a real fire extinguisher. He explained that he had gone down to the basement to fetch it. Then he added, “Mommy, I moved the baby out of the kitchen so he wouldn’t catch fire.”

The image of my little firefighter – ready to spring into action, having already rescued the first potential victim – snapped me out of my frenzy. Ben was so calm and reasonable and suddenly the situation didn’t seem so bleak.

In fact, the fire itself had gone out before my panic even began. When my husband finally was able to hobble down steps, he determined that the circuit breaker never tripped because the short was not in the outlet, but in the toaster. It just sort of self destructed.

It’s true that Benjamin has his father’s easy-going nature, and perhaps that’s what enabled him to stay calm through our little emergency. Then again, maybe some of what I had been trying to teach him was actually getting through. Either way, I recognized that Benjamin (and even Sophia in her calm obliviousness to the whole scene) was leading me by example.

Saskia Monteiro Thomson works part time as the Marketing Director for a leading regional accounting firm. She lives with her husband and three young children in Long Island. They have since purchased a new toaster.

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