On applesauce and the local fire department

Why the concerned look, Doc?

Because Mommy's in the kitchen.

Smart one, that baby.

Today, I tried to make applesauce. I started by washing and peeling and chopping 6.5 pounds of apples with a steak knife, which is my multi-purpose kitchen cutter-of-all-things.
When Victor started fussing about halfway through I stuck him in the mei tei, and my little quality control guy hung out while I finished the job.

I threw in some water and covered the pot, and started patting myself on the back for being so industrious and slightly crunchy-granola.

And while I was doing that the fire alarm went off.
I walked away at a crucial moment instead of stirring (and removing) the apples, and the ones on the bottom burned like the dickens. And smoked. Smoked so much that our fire alarm went off five separate times (never waking Victor). Max and B glared at me with their hands over their ears, the alarm company kept asking if I was sure everything was ok, and then a fire truck showed up anyway.

The look on the youngest fireman's face told me exactly what he thought about failing housewives like myself, but the one in charge laughed it all off with good grace. I met them outside so they didn't have to hike up our stairs, saying, "I'm so sorry! I tried to have the alarm canceled."
"That's ok, we come out anyway. Is everything ok?"
"Yes, I just burned apples."
"You ... burned apples?"
"Heh, yeah, I was trying to make applesauce, and I burned the apples."
*insert laughter from in-charge fireman, and eyerolls from the whipper snapper. I deserved both*
"Well, ... that's a good way to start apple pie!" He said. (Wasn't he nice?)

"So there were no flames?"
"Nope, just lots of smoke."
"Ok then! Have a good day!"

And they commenced the impossible task of turning a fire engine around in our very small dead-end parking lot.

I would have taken a picture of the big ones standing at the door impressed, but I was afraid it would make it look like I called the poor men out on purpose.