It has been a very strange week, ups and downs, highs and lows, and absolutely chock full of batty randomness, most of which I will be sharing with you, my beloved audience.
Starting with an afternoon scare that I’ll never forget…
I woke up super early on Monday.
On purpose, too.
I am embarking on a new project (and perhaps a real book, y’all! No deals or anything…just wishful thinking and lots of note-taking) wherein I become a REAL person, like one who gets up at the same time every morning and has, at least in theory, total control of her household.
So my first day was going quite perfectly. I woke up a 6:00, showered, dressed, groomed, coffee’d, baked, swept, Bibled, the works. I was on top of the world all morning – super duper productive – and by the time the kids were down for their afternoon nap, I felt absolutely free to sit down at the computer for a bit and do a little perusing there, a little “working” here…
Only problem was, I kept hearing footsteps upstairs. Darn kids.
We went back and forth a lot, them coming down to ask silly questions, me going up to threaten them. You know…typical stuff.
But when it was nearing 2:00 and they still weren’t asleep, I started wondering what to do. Discipline them? Declare another “happy no nap day”?
Because if they waited much longer to fall asleep, their naps would run late and then bedtime would run late, a very unhappy cycle for the entire family, especially this girl right here…
And then I heard Gideon call for me once more.
“That’s it!” I thought, as I prepared to storm upstairs and really give it to them.
But as he called my name again and I could hear his little feet flying down the stairs to retrieve me, I noticed a frantic tone in his voice.
“What is it, Gid?” I asked, standing up.
“Mama! Mama!” he yelled in the same tone, landing on the first floor and facing me with alarm in his eyes. “Hurry! You have to hurry!”
In the background, I could hear him saying lots of things excitedly, but my mind was in overdrive, imagining the worst; I kept picturing Rebekah on the rooftop, a frequent fear of mine since we built this house…
But as we made it to the landing, the unmistakable smell of smoke hit my senses. And then a few of Gideon’s words broke through: lampshade. fire. burning.
I ran into their room, the acrid smell growing stronger with every step I took. Rebekah, standing in her crib, joined Gideon in pointing out the source of the smell – a lamp, knocked over on the windowsill that runs behind Gid’s bed. There, right where they sleep and horrifying close to the curtains was a teeny tiny fire burning a very quick hole through our super-cute and magical Anthropologie lampshade. The shade, that usually clamps onto the lightbulb, had been knocked askew and the lightbulb was sitting directly on the shade, burning a hole right through it.
A hole that was getting bigger by the second.
I ran to the lamp, plucked the lampshade off and, with Gideon right on my heels, ran into the bathroom where I doused it with water under the sink faucet.
With a sizzle, the fire was gone.
I turned to look at Gideon, both of our eyes wide with disbelief.
And then the nervous chatter began…
We walked back to their room, where Rebekah had since crawled over her crib rail, and the three of us congregated in my Granny’s old pink upholstered rocking chair, each one of us talking up a storm. Scary as it was, and as fast as my heart was beating, I was so amused by the children’s retelling of what happened.
And even more amused to hear them recount the story on the phone with their Papa and then Grandmother and then Granddaddy, Gideon first, always followed by Rebekah who had to throw in her two cents. Especially humorous was hearing my Mom on speaker-phone, obviously playing along with Gideon’s seemingly fabricated tale as he tried to convince her that he was telling the truth. Her tone went from patronizing and playful to confused to unsure to “Gid? Let me talk to your Mom…”
Papa came directly home, and while he was inspecting the burned shade with Gideon, I held Rebekah on my lap and asked her about the fire, eager to continue listening to her thoughts on the matter.
“What happened?” I asked her.
“The wampbulb made a FIRE in the wampthing” she said somberly.
“Who saw the fire first?” I asked.
She thought for a moment and then pointed at herself.
“You did?!” I exclaimed, thinking she was telling a windy and hoping to hear more.
“Yep,” she responded, “and I said ‘Gid! Gid! Look at the wamp!’ and he came to get Mama.”
Well she had really piqued my curiosity, so later, when alone with Gideon, I asked him the same question: “Hey, Gid…who was the first one to see the fire?”
“I did.” he said matter-of-factly.
He continued to eat his snack at the kitchen island as I tidied up the countertop, speculating over who was telling the truth. A couple of minutes later, he piped up again:
“Well…actually…Rebekah saw the fire first and told me.” he confessed.
So I had two heroes on my hands.
But we all knew who to really give the praise to…
Our heavenly Father, who knows just when children need to take their naps and just when they don’t. With that lampshade in my hand, in the stinky smokey bedroom, we bowed our heads together and thanked God for keeping us – and our house – safe for another day.
But Gideon still got a “hero” medal that my Mom had laid aside for a special day…
I got my two oldest chicks, safe and healthy and whole…
Our family got a new story to tell and a memory to share…
Rebekah got a stick of gum…
and God most certainly got the glory.
But, seriously, what a weird week (part one).