Do you know what is worse than having a newborn in your house when the sun goes down?
It’s getting up to use the ladies’ room at precisely 12:20 in the morning and hearing something explode outside that sounds suspiciously like enemy gunfire, whether it’s from a pistol that can be shoved down the front of a vagrant’s slouchy jeans or a cannon mounted onto the side of a ship.
I wasted absolutely no time at all getting myself out of the ladies’ room and back into the bedroom, where I realized that our entire house was taking all of one-sixth of a second to power itself down.
The electricity was out.
I know in all the old movies that the villain always cuts the electrical wires to your home, right before he breaks in and hides behind your shower curtain, which is where you’ll find him when your need to be clean at 2 AM outweighs your need for common sense, because SLEEP, ALREADY!!
I woke Hubs up and said, “Something blew up outside and our electricity is out, and also we may have a guy wearing a hockey mask and holding a machete hiding in our shower soon.”
Hubs mumbled something about “A transformer blowing up” and “Go back to bed.”
Unless it produces a good mushroom cloud and bears fallout, it’s going to take more than a small explosion to get Hubs out of bed in the middle of the night.
I texted my neighbor, because she’s always awake at night. Hubs and I worry that Neighbor Natalie might actually be the descendant of a vampire, because she is the Reigning Queen of Night Owls. I knew she’d be awake. I asked her if she heard the transformer blow up.
Her husband called in the explosion, because apparently he is NOT prone to sleeping through dangerous rounds of enemy fire. He was told by the power company that someone had hit a power pole on the nearby street. I don’t want to make any judgement calls, but crossing a sidewalk and entering the grassy area beside it at 12:20 in the morning just smacks of I REGRET THAT LAST MICHELOB NOW.
Apparently the collision with the power pole caused the transformer in our neighbor’s backyard to blow up.
And THAT, people, is how there came to be men wearing hardhats adorned with headlamps (that lit the place up like the surface of the sun), barking orders out in voices that just didn’t care if the entire neighborhood was trying to sleep. They quite noisily worked on the main street behind us, and then… about 2:00 this morning, they brought the giant truck into our backyard.
The lights alone on the truck were glowing like an exploding star, and they were navigating the area between our neighbors’ trees with many shouts and hollers and whoas, which resulted in the BEEP-BEEP-BEEPING that is associated with every major piece of machinery that decides it needs to back up.
Honestly, they were fifteen feet away from the edge of our deck. I could have thrown an egg with MY LEFT HAND and hit them broadside, they were so close.
And Hubs slept through it all.
It was very possibly lighter outside at 2:00 this morning than it would be at 2:00 in the afternoon. Someone, who was wishing he’d had more coffee before he took the emergency call, crawled into the bucket on the truck’s enormous arm, and his operator (who had very possibly had TOO MUCH coffee) moved the levers to raise him to the skies in a jerky, stop-and-go action that almost caused me to puke with all the motion sickness I felt for the bucket rider.
That bucket ride to the dead transformer was the stuff of carnival nightmares.
At 3:06, precisely (if my iPhone wasn’t lying), our electricity was returned to full force, and the men BEEP-BEEP-BEEPED their way backwards, through our neighbor’s trees and our backyard, and that was the end of the entire situation.
Hubs missed it all.
I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, because it might make you think that our home is basically unprotected each night, as Hubs slips into his I JUST PRICKED MY FINGER ON A SPINNING WHEEL AND WILL LAY HERE IN A COMA UNTIL TRUE LOVE’S KISS FINDS ME kind of sleep, but listen: I wake up at any noise. If the cricket in our garage sneezes, I will hear him and get up.
Plus, we have Cat 1 on the premises, who is a cross-bred puma / wolverine / ninja / unmedicated serial killer, and she will simply waste no time in taking your liver and left lung away from you.
In other news, we’ve had a great little Father’s Day Weekend at our house.
Yesterday, Hubs’ mama invited us out to their home in Small Mountain Town for dinner. Now, what you need to know is that Hubs’ mother is NOT Chinese, but when she decides to dice celery and slice mushrooms and make egg rolls and crab puffs and rice, there’s no one inside all of China’s borders who can make it taste as good as my mother-in-law can. THAT is what we had for dinner — the entire Chinese buffet laid out on her kitchen counters — and then we wrapped it all up with a homemade cherry pie, because ISN’T THAT KIND OF CHINESE?
Thing 2 ate strawberries and a red sucker for dinner, because he wouldn’t touch a vegetable with a twelve-foot pole to win the state lottery, and then he politely demanded that his older brother take him outside for a tractor ride.
We’re pretty sure the boy drove seven hundred miles around Grammy and Papa’s property last night, while Thing 2 sat back and enjoyed the scenery.
When the boy’s hands were numb from all the chilly weather (because RAIN, RAIN, RAIN and CLOUDS, CLOUDS, CLOUDS all weekend, people), he overrode Thing 2’s demands to PLEASE REMAIN IN THE DRIVER’S SEAT AND KEEP GOING, BECAUSE I CANNOT REACH THE GAS PEDAL WITH MY 2T LEGS, and announced that the tractor rides were concluding for the day.
That’s when Thing 2 marched into the house and batted his brown eyes at Hubs, who went out to drive the tractor around in circles for a while.
And when Hubs’ hands were cold, he ignored the protests of the toddler and parked the mower, too.
That’s when Thing 2 marched into the house and batted his brown eyes at Papa. Papa put on some leather work gloves, because apparently age breeds common sense, and out they went, for the final nine-hundred-and-seventeen-mile leg of the tractor journey.
You can tell that I’m a very professional photographer, because I had them stand beneath a tree when the sun was beating down in all of its early-morning glory, which created every photographer’s nightmare of HARSH SHADOWS.
The answer is yes. Our neighbor’s car IS missing a fair chunk out of its front fender, but that is apparently what happens when a doe cannot run fast enough to clear the highway when you’re barreling down it at top speed.
Some of us had the new Oprah chai tea, and discovered that our day was officially complete, which made me feel slightly guilty, because the outing was for my dad, and I enjoyed MY hot drink like it was expensive French champagne.
It’s just that MY DAD ordered a white chocolate mocha, which can ruin a day fairly quickly, because GROSS.
The boys gave Hubs a new chair for the patio for a Father’s Day gift.
Some assembly was required, but, thankfully, Thing 2 is becoming very handy with a screwdriver.
… just so long as none of those shady activities, espionage, or hit-and-runs to power poles happen AFTER dark, because you know Hubs will totally be in his bed by then, completely oblivious to the fact that WE’RE JUST DOING A LITTLE UTILITY MAINTENANCE RIGHT OUTSIDE YOUR WINDOW WITH OUR CONSTRUCTION LIGHTS THAT ARE BRIGHTER THAN THE SURFACE OF THE SUN AND OUR INCREDIBLE NOISE.
To all the good dads everywhere… Happy Father’s Day.