August 11, 2010
it’s a long story. and not very interesting.
I think that yesterday’s post might have mislead the three of you that read here.
It wasn’t my intent to create any kind of suspense or be dramatic. I really was crazy last night.
Here’s what happened.
I had been out of town all day with Baby Swiss visiting with more college girlfriends in college-town. Mr. Mouse was out of town for work, so we got home about 9:15 – well after a certain grumpy someone’s bedtime, so I was very in-the-zone on getting her to bed and then spending some quality time with the dvr, my netbook and the sofa – staying up way too late, like I always do when Mr. Mouse is out of town.
So, I get in the house with the cranky baby and all of our visiting out of town stuff. I set the alarm, because hello, my house got broken into two Christmases ago and I’m forever scarred.
Then I hear the banging.
That’s always the sound you want to hear when you’re alone in your house with your baby, a bunch of dead ants (shout out to Terro) and about 4 billion spiders.
Or maybe, you’d rather hear the sound of your baby snoring on the monitor while you’re watching your dvr on the sofa with your netbook in your lap.
So, the banging.
I look out the front window and there is a gas company truck in front of the next door neighbor’s house, so I’m hoping the source of the banging is coming from someone of an official nature, versus someone of the I-want-to-bust-your-front-door-down-nature.
Nevertheless, my heart is beating just a tiddle bit fast.
And, my baby is still cranky and needs to go to bed.
So, we go upstairs where her bedroom is located and where I figure I can get a better view out of the window at what might or might not be transpiring of the legal or not so legal nature outside.
As soon as I lay the baby on the dresser and pull off her skirt to change her, the doorbell rings.
Now, it’s safe to say that I never appreciate the doorbell ringing unless I’m expecting someone.
It’s even safer to say that I really don’t appreciate it when it’s dark outside and my husband isn’t home.
I put the baby’s skirt back on to go downstairs to greet the boogey man.
It turns out that the boogey man was a chick wearing a polo shirt with the name of the gas company embroidered on it.
To make what could be the longest story known to man, not so long:
the neighbors called in a gas leak
she came back to light my pilot light
I stewed for way too long about the possibility of my house blowing up and/or it all being a giant ruse to cover up the fact that someone was casing the joint
It’s been awhile since I’ve had such a crazy moment. I guess I was due. It still surprised me though.