Tax Dollars at Work

Ahhhh...where to start? Well, I had finally gotten both boys in bed one night earlier this week when I remembered that Rick had picked up some fire logs for me before leaving on a business trip. I went to the garage and pulled out a log, grabbed a flashlight and proceeded to open the flue. I opened and closed it several times just to be on the cautious side--I hadn't started a fire in our fireplace since last year, but I knew the drill. I went about cleaning up the kitchen and thought the smell coming from the fireplace was a little strong (just the paper burning; no big deal). Within a minute, the smoke alarm upstairs was going off. I ran up to turn it off, which took me several minutes--seriously, it was hard-wired (no batteries), I had to pull the wires out! Jack was crying, but I thought I'd go back downstairs and see if I could fix the problem. As I descended the stairs and into a thick blanket of smoke where the first level of my house used to be, I panicked a little. There I was staring into the blazing fire log in my fireplace saying to myself "How do I fix this?" I ran to the phone with fingers shaking: nine...one...one. "Nine one one, what's your emergency?" "Fire!" I hear myself say aloud while thinking to myself that this is not the warm, comforting, husband's-out-of-town, kids-are-in-bed, grab-a-glass-of-wine fire I was envisioning just minutes (three, maybe four minutes) ago. The operator connected me to the fire department, and within 30 seconds of hanging up there I was descending those stairs (again) with two sleepy boys in my arms (all my hard work--gone). We headed across the street to our neighbors who lovingly calmed us down...and then proceeded to laugh at us (okay, me). Six fire vehicles later (two large trucks, four cars--all with flashing lights and sirens disrupting the calm of our sleepy neighborhood), the fire chief informed me that I did, indeed, get the flue open...partially. In the end, Jack had a blast watching the vehicles, meeting the firemen, playing with their high-powered flashlights and cameras, and little Sam went back to sleep without a peep--as if all this were normal. Once the trucks were gone, the smoke was cleared (almost), the kids back in bed, I realize that the firemen left my firelog burning for me. But as I sat in front of it with my glass of wine, staring at the charred metal and brick, I thought to myself, "What were they thinking? They left me with an open flame?" And I've never enjoyed a fire less in my life.

The next morning, Jack, Sam and I brought Company 16 four dozen cookies. And that's where I prefer to see firefighters--at the fire station!