Monday morning, I walked into my kid's bedroom first thing and it smelled... funny. Kind of... burnt-ish. In an electric sort of way.
Alarms went off in my head, and I walked around looking at each outlet--none were smoking or black. I ran my hands along the wall feeling for heat. Only one outlet, in the whole room, had anything plugged into it, and that was the lamp--which was off. I couldn't see any forks or bobby pins that could've been jammed into a socket by a child. I opened my front door to see if it could be coming from outside. I was puzzled.
So, being me, when I got back from dropping Emily off at school, I called the fire department. I did not dial 911. I called their business number. But it was still picked up by a 911 dispatcher. (I was all friendly because, hey, the last time I talked to my local 911 dispatcher they told my husband how to deliver a baby. I never got to thank them, at the time, because I was busy, and you don't get to talk to 911 every day. Anyway.) I told them my dilemna, and they said "Okay, we'll send a guy out with a heat gun to see if there is anything going on behind the walls." Great! She also told me to flip the breaker switch to "off" and stay outside with my kids, just in case. Sure!
Well... a few minutes later I hear sirens. And I know. They aren't sending "a guy". No. They have called out the troops. I am blushing profusely as I hear the sirens getting closer. Oh well, at least I know that Caleb will think the trucks are cool. I am dreading the inevitable talks with the neighbors. They round the corner. My two year old is giddy in my arms. "FIRE TRUCKS!!"
They sent two trucks and four firemen, in full gear. I felt so dumb. I tell them "Hey, last time you were here, I had just had a baby! I hope it's less exciting this time..." Nervous chuckle from me. All business on their side. One of them is carrying an axe. They came into the house with their fancy heat radar and radared the walls and the ceiling. They asked why the breaker was flipped, and I told them I did that. They looked at me and said, in their super hero way, "Don't do that next time." Great. Next time. I'll store that away.
They couldn't find anything, and so they packed up their stuff and told me to call back if it happened again. They also mentioned, casually, that I might not want to go too far from home. Gulp.
Now it's... oh... almost three days later... and there's that smell again!! I have no idea what it is. And I'll be honest, it's makin' me nervous.
I might have to call my friends at the local fire department and have them come over again. Maybe this time I could at least give them donuts or something...