Let's Give 'Em Something To Blog About

I always took comfort that if something tragic should happen, the service workers won't be looking at your messy whatever (paramedic...undies, fireman....cleanliness, etc.). That's a lie. I'll tell you why that's a lie momentarily.

So, we went to dinner with Sanna and her husband's family in Chattavegas around 4 this afternoon.

When we returned home around 7, the minute I came in the door, I was like, "Steven! Come quick. There's a weird burnt smell and a haze."

Waited. Waited. Ticked off, but more than ticked, I was puzzled.

So, rather than go look for him, I decided to figure it out myself. OR. SO I. THOUGHT.

I told Libby to stay put at the kitchen door while I checked the house out. Needless to say, she didn't. She went on to the bathroom to, well, do #2. That means I couldn't beg, pay or bribe her to get out of the bathroom from the hour long ritual of handwashing, singing in the mirror, refolding the drying towels, etc.

Steven had gotten out of the car and instead of coming inside, he went outside to fix the exterior lighting timers. Ill that in life's toughest moments, I'm like a one legged man in a butt kicking contest, I go through the house downstairs, every room, every closet, upstairs, the same routine. I was freaking. For one reason, I'm a neat freak and didn't want anything to smell bad and two, the place could be burning down any minute.

I couldn't figure it out. I called my mom. She said to call the fire department. I tried to get Libby out of the bathroom so that we could locate Steven to get his take on things, but I couldn't get her out of the bathroom. At this point, I'm ticked at Steven, puzzled with the smell, and aggrevated with Libby. As my Granny would say, "PLLLLease. Somebody. Plllease. Jus' please."

I decided that it would be embarrassing for a firetruck to come with lights all on with sirens when we don't see actual smoke or have any reason to believe there is a fire. When Steven finally came inside, I said, "get a load of the overwhelming smell and not the one Libby probably produced in the the bathroom because she's been in there long enough to douse the place in Febreeze." He said, "yeah, it's bad under the house, too." I handed him the phone and said, "This is a you thing. I'm going to give Libby a bath. This shouldn't take both of us to remedy." I pried Libby from the bathroom and headed upstairs.

Upstairs, I shifted the laundry, and ran bath water. Steven comes up and says that the fire department wanted the house vacated due to the smell until they got there to check it out. Now, this vacate order comes from a man who, while employed by the local hospital, refuses to imposition perfect pregnant stranger women dragging IV's by the "No Smoking" sign smoking cigarettes in front of the hospital doors. He won't even tell them it's a smoke free campus or make them feel badly about the stinch they are subjecting others to, much less the health hazards they are posing. So, when he tells us to vacate the place........I just looked at him like....right. Well, he finally vacated us to the car and we moved out to the driveway so we could have the car running while we waited.

Not one, but 2 huge lights going, sirens sounding engines came and about 12 volunteer fire department cars/trucks with lights flashing came, too. Every one of the 10-15 men scoured our house inside and out about 10 times. They could smell it, but didn't see a haze. They questioned us and even Libby. Did we do anything out of the norm this afternoon, did Libby throw any toys up into the lights, etc.

They told us to remove all the Glade plug ins and not to use them. They told us not to leave the iron plugged up. However, they couldn't tell us what the smell was.

About the time they were wrapping things up, my sister shows up with her camera. She decided to request a photo op. I'm thinking, "My house could be about to blow up, I have been evacuated and you are getting Libby out of my car to get her and Kaylee's pictures with the fireman?!" Next thing you know, she'll be asking to honk the horn on the fire truck and take a station tour.

Okay, the part about "service workers don't comment on your mess." Whatev. They told us that the filters needed changing. I've been busy. They were last changed on December 9th. What's the smell, people?! So, tonight, I am here with a smell that I/we/they can only conclude is a skunk. Cry. Here's some pictures of a few of the nice fireman who may find themselves back over here at 2 am, compliments of my sister: