911!! (Here we go again)...

Okay, first of all, I know I have not been writing as much lately. Just been picking up a lot of teaching jobs and getting stuff ready to return to school in a few weeks. But, as always, there is never a dull moment in our household...

This past Saturday, I awoke around 8:00 to my son telling me he smelled fire in the house. I was still groggy with sleep and kind of shrugged it off as the smell the furnace sometimes makes (you know, like the smell of burnt DUST when it has been shut off for awhile?). So I dragged my butt out of bed (hubby, the FIREFIGHTER was at work that day of course) and headed into the kids' room. Instantly I was on red alert, because I could smell fire too! Trying to avoid all out panic (those of my family who know me well understand I am not always the calmest person in the room during intense situations), I frantically started searching the room looking for smoke or flames. I found neither.

I went out into the hallway and stood directly under the crawl space (we don't have an attic) where all the home insulation (aka KINDLING) is...and the smell intensified. Still no sign of smoke or flame, but taking no chances, I told the kids to put on shoes and jackets and go out in the garage until I could decide the next step.

Well, the next step was escorting them downstairs and out to the garage, and checking to make sure the furnace wasn't on fire. Then I shut off the furnace (just in case), and headed back upstairs, phone in hand. Was I going to call 911? Not just yet, dear readers.....

So I call my darling at work and explain that I believe our house may be on fire, I just can't find the damn thing. In the back of my mind, I keep thinking "this cannot be happening, we don't have money to buy a new house and there won't be time to pack valuables and oh GOD what the hell am I gonna do?" But I haven't started screaming or running in circles yet.

So HE says, why the Hell are you calling ME when you should be on the phone with 911? Well, actually, that was after he started asking me silly questions like "what kind of fire? like wood smell or electrical smell?" Like I'm friggin certified in this area or something. I resist a smartass comment, but it is taking all my willpower, but at least it takes my mind of panicking and screaming momentarily, so I suppose I should be grateful.

Then he proceeds to tell me to go get a ladder and check the crawl space if I smell it up there. And he's irritated, like I'm bothering him or something. He finally says, "well, I'm in lineup and can't talk right now. What do you want me to do from here?" To which I respond, "well, I don't want to call 911 AGAIN after the last episode and have it turn out to be nothing". So anyway, I tell him I'll call him later and hang up while heading down to fetch the ladder. By now, the kids are wondering why they are milling around in the garage, so I tell them to just sit in the car, throw the cat in there with them (the other 2 are on their own, they pretty much live outside most of the time anyway), and also manage to get the dog corralled in the garage while I'm at it.

Okay, back upstairs. At least all this busy work is keeping me from the screaming and running in circles thing. Up I go, pressing the back of my hand to the crawlspace...feeling for heat. There is none. Now, I should say at this point, I have noticed the smell is not as strong as it was earlier. But my senses are a bit overwhelmed anyway, so I'm still convinced there is a fire somewhere. So I cautiously push up on the crawl space "door" (it's more like a small rectangular cutout) and peer upward. I can feel weight on the the "door" above me, so I don't push it up all the way, but I look around and am relieved to find no sign of fire.

I should have stopped there. Really.

Instead, I call my older brother (who also knows all about HVAC problems) and ask him what he thinks I should do....call 911 or let it go until I actually SEE visible signs of a fire. He says, might as well call to be safe, so okay, that's what I'm gonna do.

Fast forward to me hanging up from the 911 operator and tugging jeans and a shirt on since I absolutely VOW to never greet firemen in my pj's unless I absolutely HAVE to (I will also never call 911 if I'm on the toilet and need assistance no matter how bad it gets. But that's another blog). Then I'm thinking, hey, I should pull the truck out of the driveway to make some room so they can go through the garage. By now, the sirens are within earshot, the kids are all excited, the dog has now been relocated to the chain in our front yard, the cat has taken off and the kids have been shepherded to the steps at the neighbors. I'm running to jump in the truck and have just pulled out as the truck(S) pull up.

Yes, there are 3 of them. The whole dang city has come to my house. And the neighbors are naturally curious.

By now, the furnace has been off for 15 minutes. When I lead the ff's upstairs, the smell is completely GONE. I'm just the crazy lady who calls the fire department and squanders resources now. They check the crawl spaces anyway, search the rooms, send 2 trucks back to their stations, and as a last courtesy, look in the furnace for any signs of trouble.

I am horrifically embarrassed yet again. At least my pants were zipped up this time. I should have offered to burn toast or light a match they could put out so they could have something constructive to do while they were here. Oy!

And that was how my Saturday started.