Blog Post of the Week: The Smoke Detector that broke the camel's back

This weeks Blog Post of the Week comes from Mommy Nanni Boo Boo!! .....who by the way will be my guest blogger next week some time - so this warms you up to her style.

I like it a lot.

Why did I choose this post?

She writes so well, I feel it was me... standing there... freaking out....

Hope you enjoy it too

The Smoke Detector that Broke the Camels Back

There is only so much a person can take.

Human beings (yes, mommies too) are fragile, as much as we don’t like to admit it. We disregard this fact. We push it deep down and pretend to be super heroes. We call it “necessity”, because after all, someone needs to take care of the house, feed the family, change the diapers, walk the dogs, keep the doctor appointments, buy the groceries, enforce nap times, wipe the noses, do the laundry, do the ironing, schedule the play dates, and generally keep the world spinning.

If you follow my blog, then you know that I have had ONE HECK OF A MONTH. With our new apartment falling apart around us, not having heat, Bam Bam getting sick, myself getting sick, and Hot Nerd struck down by the h1n1 virus , my mettle has been tested.

A couple weeks ago, I shattered into a million pieces. My fortitude was reduced to the equivalent of a soft, albeit tasty, cinnamon crumb cake. One touch= an avalanche of crumbly crumbles scattered all over your plate.

What was the culprit you ask? What evil superpower led to my eventual undoing? Two words for you:

SMOKE DETECTOR

Please imagine, if you will:

Hot Nerd is out for the evening with a friend. They are spending a late night at the roller derby (No, you did not misread. I really did say ROLLER DERBY.) At a little after midnight, I am jarred awake by a very high pitched, disturbingly loud, BEEP BEEP BEEP.

I jump out of bed with my heart in my throat and blindly throw my pillow at the… I don’t know… whatever I thought was attacking us at the moment!

Silence.

I feel around in the dark, breathing very heavily, and switch on the light. I scan the room briefly, and then, three very loud BEEP BEEP BEEPS!

I realize that it is the smoke detector in our bedroom, and become very afraid that it will wake Bam Bam and scare the living crap out of him, like it did me. It is not making a constant string of beeps. Just three piercing beeps, followed by about 20 seconds of silence. You know, just enough time to catch your breath, and remember what silence sounds like, before another round of earth shattering BEEP BEEP BEEPS.

This lack of a continuous string of beeps, leads me to believe that it has something to do with the battery. I thank the powers that be for putting a 9volt battery in our junk drawer, and quickly hop on top of our son’s step stool to change the battery.

I CANT FIGURE OUT HOW TO CHANGE THE BATTERY. I see no button, or hatch, or twisty- pully thing. I know there’s a battery in there somewhere because BEEP BEEP BEEP!

I begin simply swatting at the thing. As if to clear the imaginary smoke from around the device. I must point out, that the thirty days leading up to this point has already left me ill, sleep deprived, and the biggest walking ball of stress you’ve ever seen. So please forgive me when I tell you all that I begin to pry the thing off of the wall. I gotta say, nowadays, they really stick those things to the walls. It would not budge- okay it budged a little. But being on top of my son’s tiny step stool, balancing on my tippy tippy toes just didn’t give me the leverage I needed. BEEP BEEP BEEP. So I start to beat it. First with my flat hand, then with my fist. Magic fist, apparently. Magic fist that makes the battery pop out of a weird, hidden, battery slot. YAY. I change the battery.

I praise the Gods that Bam Bam is still asleep in the next room and begin to climb down from my post.

BEEP. Silence.

Huh, that must be the beep that tells you you’ve successfully changed the battery.

BEEP. Silence.

Okay… that must be the beep that reminds you to perhaps check the batteries in the other smoke detectors...

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!

I scramble back up the step stool and start slapping the thing. I’m also whispering vehemently, right up into what I imagine to be it’s face, “What do you want from me, you mother fucking piece of crap? I will kill you. Do you hear me? I … will… KILL YOU.”

I can not fathom how any of this is possible. How does a nice, new shiny battery produce MORE beeping. It was teasing me. The fucking thing was teasing me.

While I’m up in it’s imaginary face, whisper/yelling at it, I notice a teeny button that says press to silence.

Oh my God, I press it.

I soooooo press it.

It is silent.

Then it is not.

BEEP.

It’s a softer beep. Not a silent beep. The button should say press to get a softer, only slightly less annoying beep.

I, at this point, am wondering what kind of futuristic, indestructible, alien smoke detector this is.

I have also worked up a sweat.

And I’m crying.

I can not think of anything else to do, but to stand there on my toes and keep my finger on the stupid button. I am amazed that my son has not woken up, and if the loud beeps start again, my brain will most definitely explode.

I stand there.

My arm goes a little numb.

I stand there.

On my toes.

On my son’s step stool.

In the corner of my bedroom.

Feeling completely trapped.

Then I jump off, run to the nightstand, grab my phone, run back, and press the button again.

I decide there is nothing else left in me. I call my husband. I tell Hot Nerd that I need him to come home. It’s an emergency. I’m at my wit’s end. My fingers are numb. I’ve got a cramp in my calf. And I’m very, very, very tired.

I give him the low down on the phone. He’s at a bar, they just ordered food…blah blah blah. I don’t care. I tell him I’m about to go crazy and he needs to come home. His friend, jokingly suggests that maybe our place is haunted, and this all being done by a ghost.

I instantly believe that this is true.

There is no other explanation. It is an evil spirit trying to terrorize me.

I begin to sob, uncontrollably.

Hot Nerd says he will be home as soon as possible.

I must add, here, that this whole ordeal has completely fried my two little doggies. They are shaking, and skittering around, and this only confirms my belief that the evil spirits are out to get us.

Hot Nerd takes about twenty minutes to get home.

I spend that time sobbing, stuck in a corner, with my numb finger on that stupid button, tirelessly scanning the room for ghosts, and praying that I don’t become possessed by demons. Our closet doors begin to rattle. Our apartment is so shoddily made, that they rattle when anyone enters the building, but at that moment, I’m pretty sure they are rattling because of pure evil. I truly don’t remember the last time I was so terrified.

Hot Nerd, when he arrived, let me cry on his shoulder for a few seconds, then went through a series of similar tasks with the battery. Every time we thought he had fixed it, a random beep would occur.

Finally, we figured out it was the stand up AC unit that was in our room. We keep the fan on for noise, and the vent was pointed straight up at the smoke detector. At least we think that’s it. We moved it. It didn’t beep. Beep or no beep, I didn’t sleep a wink that night.

The next morning, Hot Nerd suggested in a very gentle way that I might be a little over stressed. He suggested I schedule a massage for the following weekend to relax. This is why he is a genius. And also why he is hot.

I still glare at that smoke detector when I’m in bed. That little, round thing was the last straw for me.

I broke.

I could take no more.

Sometimes the mountains we carry on our backs just keep piling higher and higher. We’re too busy pointing out how high the mountain is on our spouse’s back, or making sure a mountain never gets to start on our children’s backs.

So let this be a reminder to those reading:

Unless you wanna go bat shit crazy on a battery operated device, that is supposed to save lives, and swat at imaginary demons in your bedroom- take some time every now and then to lighten your load.

It’s not hard. A warm bath. A massage. A yoga class. An exorcism.

Something.

Because you never know what the last straw will be.

What do you think? Hope you enjoy her style as I do...