The trials of Mom continue

Recently my mom got a new stove / range combo.  The old one was, well, quite old.  After much deliberation, bad communication, minor home reconstruction and general Fleishauer Style shrieking, she got a sweet induction stovetop and one of the fancy ovens that circulates air and thus cooks things 1 billion times faster than old stagnant air ovens.  (Seems like a small improvement for such dramatic results, right?) 

Well my sister rented a condo in Door County where my family goes every year, near to my parents accommodations.  We decided to bake a pie there, and intead of making a standard mess, we decided to line the oven with aluminum foil.  Apparently, you can no longer do this, as changes in the way foil is made now makes it so that high extended heat will fuse the foil with the bottom of the oven quite permanently.  (So don't do it.)  It makes me wonder just what on God's green earth is aluminum foil good for now?

I digress, the point was that we thoroughly ruined (and thus had to replace) the bottom drip plate of the oven in the condo.  Then there was apparently an incident at home with the new stove, culminating in this email from mom.

Yes.  My new stove.  The one that used to bake lasagna, and boil water
on its cook top.  Yes.  That one.  I used to make tea, bake bread and
make omelets.  In the days before I wrecked it.  Like so many things,
I regret this.  It is perhaps the one thing that my mother never
warned me about...  I suppose she thought it was the one thing she
didn't need to warn me about.  To be perfectly clear on this I believe
she once did warn me about breaking her stove, she just never said, in
that exasperated voice of hers, "Don't wreck YOUR stove, Pamela!"
Last month wrecked the stove at the condo and this month, barely two
weeks later I have wrecked the stove at Rancho De Fleishauer.
Purchased Dec. 10, 2010.  I had such high expectations, Now totally
dashed.  Turned on the auto clean.  If I could get the door open, I'm
sure it would be pretty clean in there.  The smoke was something
fierce. Then the big boom and then the shouting.  Honestly Eli, for you,
my son, even for you, the wound is still to fresh to go
into detail...  sigh.
Your pyrotechnical mother, Pam

(slight edits made by the Bruler in red)