I haven't been able to brnig myself to blog about this until now because it was too freaking traumatic (in a funny way... but still!). It was back in the thick of tantrum-times, when the days were long and the nights, well they were long too! Boy-o, during a moment of relative calm, pushed a button on our alarm which caused it to go off. Looking back, this should have tipped me off to the fact that our alarm had "magic" buttons for fire and police (which, had I been a manual reader, and I am emphatically not, I would know this). Anyhoo. I punched the alarm off super quick and didn't bother calling the alarm company, because other times when I've been quick to turn it off, the company hasn't even registered the alarm going off yet. And on I went with my not-so-merry day. I turned the ringer off on our phone so that Boy-o and Girlio could sleep without interruption. I endured a whole bunch of tantrum, which was sort of counterproductive to the whole point of turning off the ringer on the phone, as clearly both of the children were rather profoundly awake. And then off in the distance we heard sirens. Getting closer. I was relieved to hear them, largely b/c they jarred Boy-o out of tantrum-land. But then they started to get really close. Like, on our street close. We zipped to the window to see what was up. Heart sinking - I see firetrucks and firemen pouring out onto our lawn.
Boy-o is in his absolute glory..."Mama - firetrucks, firetrucks, FIRETRUCKS!" Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity Fuck Fuck! There are not one, not two, not three, not four, but five firetrucks outside of my house. My heart is pounding and I am sweating and shaking and about to crawl through the floor with total humiliation. "Wow Mama! Wowwowowowow! Do you SEE MAMA?!" Oh I see. I see hot firemen on my front lawn to see if my unshowered, messy-haired, no-make-up, no deoderant, sweatpants wearing self, and my beautiful and unruly children are alright. Not sure if I've yet mentioned how humilated I am yet?
Turns out that there is indeed a magic fire button on our alarm. It's green, in case you were wondering. It also turns out that the alarm company has been trying to reach us while I've been busy dealing with not napping and tantrumming. It also also turns out that the fire department tried to give us a ring. It also also also turns out that when all of the above could not reach us, they called L. at work and sent out the calvary. Big time.
They were exceedingly kind to us. There was no lecture, other than the very public one to Boy-o from his mama about not touching the alarm because then firemen had to waste time at our house when they could be out helping people who really needed it (or playing cards with their hot selves at the firestation, whatever). And they didn't threaten us with a bill for the five trucks that were diverted to our home, which they would have had every right too. And they mercifully did not point out that I was the most unkempt and dishevelled woman they'd ever laid eyes on.
By the time I cleared out the five firetrucks full of hotties and the nosy neighbours that descended like vultures, I realized that I had better call L. Too late. She was already on her way home, out of her mind with panic, thinking her whole family was up in flames.
Given it was too late in the day for her to go back to work, we did what any shell shocked mamas would do. Pulled out the booze and hugged their peeps (yes, in that order!).
Five fire trucks. Five. Sweet mother. That'll teach a girl to shower more regularly.