My husband smelled it a few seconds before I did. *sniff* What's burning? He gets up to investigate, I follow. Diana's in the kitchen eating cold pizza for breakfast. *sniff* What's burnt? No, not the toaster. It's coming from the microwave, but there's nothing in there now. I look in the garbage, and there is a rock-hard Krispy Kreme donut, slightly charred, in there. Apparently she didn't recall Daddy's warning that a donut only needs 6 seconds. Now the house smells like burned sugar.
It's nice that's she's getting some independence. Nice that she didn't kick us out of our own bed on a Saturday to get things for her. But I sure wish not to wake up to the smell of something burning again!