Our excitement for the day

Today started out like most other Thursdays -- I took Kieran to his speech and occupational therapies at his school and then returned home. Since Seth had had a torn meniscus in his knee repaired on Tuesday afternoon, he was still home recovering from the surgery. So, I set Kieran and Seth up with some schoolwork to practice while I started washing dishes and putting things away. 

One of the areas that individuals with Williams syndrome tend to struggle with is spatial relations -- being able to describe an object in relation to another object. My mom found some manipulatives that help with teaching and practicing those concepts and I usually pull those out on Thursday mornings to go over with Kieran. Seth helped him this morning (the photo below shows Kieran working with one of the sets earlier this month). 

As I was washing, I occasionally heard some popping sounds outside and eventually heard enough that I decided to investigate. When I went outside and peered around the corner of our barn, I was met with the sight of our neighbor's pole barn engulfed in flames. Heart-stopping.

I ran back inside and tried to call 911 but realized our phone wasn't working for some reason and although I briefly talked to the 911 operator, the signal dropped. (I assumed the fire had somehow cut off our phone line but later realized that a GFCI had been tripped [when I was washing dishes?] and the section of outlets our phone was plugged into wasn't working.)

And since the phone line wasn't working, we didn't have WiFi, which meant my cell phone wasn't working, either (we don't get good cell reception in the Holler). So, I got in the car and drove up the hill where I could get the cell phone to work and called 911 and let them know what was going on. I don't know if it was my first phone call that got things started or if someone else called the fire in, but the dispatch said someone was already on their way. As I headed back down the hill, I got passed by a police car with its sirens on. 

He missed the turn onto our lane, so I waited at the end and flagged him down after he turned around and came back our way. And then I waited some more for the fire engine I heard in the distance to arrive and pointed the way out to them. 

Then, I drove down the lane, found that the son of the neighbor had been home and was in need of calling his parents, hopped back in the car, and drove him up the hill so he could make the phone call. While we were doing that, other fire trucks had arrived and were doing what needed to be done to put out the fire. 

Seth was outside directing traffic and answering whatever questions needed to be answered. When the first truck pulled up with just two volunteer firefighters, they were happy to see another of their own -- Seth -- on the scene. And then just as unhappy to see that he had a bum leg and wouldn't be of much help to them. 

Of course, the incredible irony is that Seth doesn't make it to many fire calls because we live so far out of town -- the trucks are usually gone by the time he gets the call and gets to the station. And this one time when a fire is right in his own backyard (or neighbor's yard), and he was on the scene, he was unable to help because of his knee. 

One of the things I love about Seth, however, is his diplomatic response to such things. "Well, if it weren't for the knee, I would have been at work otherwise and wouldn't have been able to help anyway," was his response when I mentioned the irony to him. 

Our little town sent several tanker trucks and two neighboring districts also sent their tanker trucks. One guy from a town south of us said that he had been harvesting soybeans when he saw the black plume of smoke and began heading in. He was already on his way when he got the call.

Our front yard looked like this for several hours.

They needed so many tanker trucks because we are so rural; we don't have city water on our property, which means there are no fire hydrants in the near vicinity to draw water from. That leaves drawing water from the creek (which is dry), our cistern (which is almost dry), or the fire hydrant that's about a mile away. The tankers took turns filling up at the fire hydrant and bringing the water down the lane. A modern-day bucket brigade.

They dumped the water in this dump tank and the firefighters pumped it out from there.

In the end, the barn wasn't able to be saved and our neighbor lost two pick-up trucks, a couple quads, a lawnmower, other lawn equipment, his tools, a winch (which Seth had just wired up for him on Saturday), and some irreplaceable heirlooms . . . among other things.

The boys stayed inside during all the excitement, although they looked out the windows at what was going on. Cael was so frightened by our initial frantic reactions -- and somehow got the thought the our house was going to burn down -- that he didn't want to go outside at all.

Note Seth's wrapped leg that he

walked on all day.

Kieran, on the other hand, would have been outside fellowshipping with the firefighters and checking things out the whole time if we had let him. When the fire was out and everyone was packing up, I took him outside to walk around. He met the firefighters and decided he wanted to wear his own fire gear, so he went inside and put it on.

When the guy in charge of the scene saw Kieran in his get-up, he said, "Hey, are you a fire chief? Every fire chief needs a radio!" and handed his radio to Kieran to wear for a bit.

He loved it.

They think the fire started when a wood stove in the barn that the son had lit earlier in the morning got too hot and caught surrounding items on fire. We are glad no one was hurt in the fire but sad for our neighbor's property loss.

And I was thankful for the reminder that we needed to have the contents of our barn (and house) documented, which I did this afternoon with my camera.

Riding in a fire engine

I've mentioned before that Seth is on the volunteer firefighting squad in our little town. Because we live down in a holler, the transponder (or whatever) that sends out the call to the firefighters doesn't reach the receiver in our house and  so Seth hasn't actually ever been able to help his team fight a fire. By the time the signal reaches his cell phone and he changes his clothes, puts his contacts in (I keep telling him he needs to get LASIK if he wants to actually make it to a fire on time), and arrives at the firehouse, it's too late and the fire trucks have already left, leaving him (and whomever else didn't make it on time) to hang out at the firehouse until they get back and can help wash the trucks. If it were me, I'd hang up my hat, but Seth perseveres through it all (and has, in fact, been taking firefighting classes so that he can become a state-certified firefighter . . . who hangs out in the firehouse). And the boys recently benefited from his perseverance. 

Our little town celebrated its annual homecoming last weekend and Saturday was the annual homecoming parade. The fire chief invited Seth and the boys to ride along on the fire engines that would be leading the parade. Cael, of course, was thrilled at the opportunity. Kieran, of course, was a bit concerned about what it all entailed and whether there would be loud noises and if he could ride on the one fire engine that he really liked. 

This one. The one that's almost a century old and has a bell he likes to ring.

Before the parade started, however, Kieran had to check out the band . . .

Oh how I don't miss those polyester band uniforms 

that didn't flatter anyone. 

Wait, what? I didn't tell you 

I used to play in the band--marching, field, and concert?

My bad. 

 . . . and the lawnmowers. 

Eventually we found out that not only did the boys get to ride in a fire engine--Seth would be driving said vehicle . . . for the first time. Ever. Through a crowd of people.

Even thought it wasn't the truck Kieran had hoped to be riding in, he agreed to this one and we all climbed in, while Seth figured out what went where and did what.

As we started down the parade route, Cael quickly got the hang of waving to the masses and proudly stood in the middle of the cab waving his little heart out.

Kieran, on the other hand, was a bit more reluctant to wave, although he did say "hello" to everyone.

A good time was had by all . . . and, thankfully, no parade-watchers were harmed in the driving of the firetruck through the parade route. 

Chicken Lights

Day 19 

The polar vortex that swept through our area a few days ago has decided to do some more sweeping. We're in for some more subzero temperatures, from what the weatherpersons have prognosticated.

Today was definitely chilly. It was difficult being outside even for short lengths of time. And definitely too cold for me to take the boys outside to play.

So far, the chickens have survived the arctic tundra the Holler has become. I've been more concerned about them than Seth has. When I first mentioned the possibility of having frozen chickens to Seth and suggested that maybe we should do something to help them out a few weeks ago, he looked at me and said, " . . . they're chickens." As if being a chicken automatically disqualifies an animal from suffering frostbite or other ill-effects of the cold.

"They have feathers." Yes, but their feet don't have feathers, so what happens when they're sitting on the cold metal bars of the Eglu and they freeze to the metal?

"They huddle together." As if speaking in italics means nothing will actually happen to them.

At any rate, we haven't done much more than we usually do (which is nothing) to keep them warm in the plummeting temperatures. And, so far, they've all survived (although we've suffered a few cracked egg casualties--who knew that eggs would burst if they got too cold?).

But with this new round of cold vortexing the air, I've become concerned about them all over again. With the last polar-thing, Seth did eventually visit the farm supply store to see if they had any heat lamps available, but apparently there had been a run on them (along with bread and milk) and none were in stock. So he picked some up a few days later and we've had them on-hand since.

Tonight, I gathered them all up and went out to the coop to install them.

The lone light on the far right is the one we usually leave on in the evenings--to give them more light and encourage them to continue to lay eggs through the dreary winter days. But I changed the bulb to a heat light and added the two other heat-lights, too. And I'll keep these on all night, rather than turning them off as we usually do.

And then I moved the Eglu cage that they roost on at night closer to the lights . . . but not too close that their feathers would get singed (I hope).

And then I closed up the coop and wished them well and told them I hoped they would all still be alive in the morning and that if they weren't, Seth would be the one they would want to complain to.

And then I came inside to find that the temperatures on the dueling thermometers had continued to drop in the short time I was out there. And I was thankful we have heat inside. And I was also thankful that Seth is a volunteer firefighter and, as such, knows what to do in the event that all those chickens and hay and heat lights collide in such a way as to start a fire. Roast chicken, anyone?

The one where I lose a . . .

I wasn't going to blog about The Incident because it gives me chills and I like to think of this blog as full of flowers and fluff. Just kidding. I don't really think of this blog like that at all (although I do like flowers, I also hate fluff).

But when I mentioned The Incident to SIL Katy, she asked if I was going to write about it and post pictures. And then tonight, as we talked about the result of The Incident, Seth asked me if I was going to post about it. And he never asks if I'm going to blog about anything. So I figured if it warranted a post in his mind, then maybe I should post about it after all.

And so I shall.

But I shall also give you this fair warning: this post will send a chill down your spine (seriously, if you don't get a shiver, let me know and I'll give you 1,000 bonus points (that mean nothing)). So if you have a weak stomach, stop reading now.

Right now.

I mean it.

If you're still reading, then consider yourself warned. This is gonna get ugly.

Last Saturday, the Special Olympics of our area hosted a fire-engine pull as a fundraiser.

Our town's volunteer firefighters signed up as a team -- Seth included. So I took the boys to watch their daddy pull a fire engine.

Which they did. Three times.

I'd like to say that all of his valiant pulling earned them a first place trophy. However, another group -- one touting muscle-building protein supplements and composed of 15 heavily armed (and I mean that in the bodily sense) men -- also showed up. And won. Surprise, surprise.

At any rate, the boys had fun looking at the various fire engines on display (all of the local volunteer firefighter squads participated).

Including this one from our town -- a 1936 engine that still runs (but doesn't go on fire runs).

And then Kieran found that the bell on another one actually worked and couldn't stay away from it.

We had a nice morning together.

Are you still with me? The Incident hadn't happened yet so you still have time to stop reading. Just sayin'.

On the way home, I stopped by a fast-food restaurant to take advantage of a buy-one-get-one-free-milkshake coupon. And I bought one chocolate shake and got a strawberry one free (or vice versa). Cael drank some of his, but Kieran wasn't interested in his, so when we got home, I put them both (the shakes, that is) in the refrigerator for later.

"Later" came after Cael woke from his nap. I asked him if wanted more of his shake and he did. And instead of waiting for me to get it for him, he opened the fridge, got his shake, and in the process spilled the other one on the floor. I wasn't happy about that and began cleaning it up a bit grumpily (I know, I know). Since some of the shake went under the fridge, I decided I needed to move it and clean under it (and in the process perhaps find some of those fridge magnets we'd been missing) so that the milk didn't putrify.

Seth was outside mowing the lawn at the time, so in my grumpiness, I decided it needed to be done right away and started moving the fridge back and forth trying to get it away from the wall.

This is where The Incident comes in. Stop reading now. I mean it.

In the process of moving the fridge, my left hand got too close to the counter by the fridge and at one point, somehow, in some odd way, STOP READING NOW, the nail on my pinkie finger got lodged in the veneer of the counter and when I pulled my hand out, the fingernail stayed in the counter. (I know this because when I went to the fridge later that evening, I saw it still in there.)

I have never been in so much pain in my entire life (including those few brief pre-epidural hours that I was in labor with Cael and those post-C-section weeks after both boys were yanked out of me). I can't really describe the noise that came out of my throat, except to say that poor little Cael was scared and crying (Kieran was oblivious in the other room). Every time I tried to stand up and walk around, I ended up on the floor feeling faint because of the pain.

Seth eventually finished mowing, came inside, noticed the blood gushing from my finger and asked about The Incident. He then helped me clean it and bandage it and took care of the boys the rest of the evening while I sat on the couch cradling my hand and wishing I hadn't been so grumpy and impatient.

We didn't go the ER because I figured there was nothing they could do anyway (the nail I found in the veneer had STOP READING NOW already hardened and wasn't really in the "re-attaching" state), but I did ask a family doctor who attends our church about it the next morning. He assured me that it wasn't fatal and that I'd have a new nail in 8-10 weeks (which sounded a lot better than the year I was expecting after Googling "what happens when you lose a fingernail" all Saturday night).

So there it is. The Incident in all its ugliness (although the picture doesn't actually do the ugliness justice). And here's where I get all spiritual and say "ugly results from ugly sin."

If you made it this far, let me ask you this: have you ever lost a fingernail? Do tell and let's experience the shivers together.

F for Fire truck

This past week at school, Kieran studied the letter F. For show-and-tell, he took in a fire truck (as did most of the others boys in the class).

 

It seemed somewhat serendipitous, since just last Sunday, Seth's volunteer fire brigade had hosted a hog-roast fundraiser for the town and Seth had taken the boys to the fire house to see the fire engines.

 



 

Both boys loved exploring the engines.

 

 And they both made sure to make the appropriate "we-ooo" siren noises as they were "driving."

One of the other volunteers who has been with the brigade for awhile kindly told Seth he could bring the boys back on a Tuesday when they do the company checks and actually take them for a ride in the truck. That hasn't happened yet, but I'm sure that as long as the sirens remain in the "off" position, Kieran will love it (Cael wouldn't mind a little siren action).

Tales of a volunteer firefighter

When Seth served the US Navy many years ago, he was part of the firefighter brigade (or whatever it's called in the Navy). Since we've been married, he's mentioned several times his interest in joining the volunteer firefighters in our little town. But because of his somewhat erratic work schedule at his previous jobs, he'd never been able to commit to getting involved.

Since he's started this new job, however, his hours are a bit more normal, and after one of the firefighters dropped off a flier enlisting new volunteers a few months ago, Seth decided it was time to join. So he went to their initial meeting, got a few T-shirts, and has been hanging out at the local firehouse on Tuesday nights ever since. (And also on the first Monday night of every month, when they provide free dinner. Which he does not bring home to his family. Just sayin'.) He also recently completed the volunteer firefighter training course and took the test last Saturday--he'll find out in a few weeks if he passed.

The other day, during one of the training sessions, the new recruits got their first call. They were practicing driving the fire engines in the parking lot of the elementary school, which sits at one end of the main street. The call was for the apartment situated over the post-office, two blocks down the main street. So everyone got their gear on, piled in the fire engine, and raced the two blocks down the street, sirens blaring, to the house. When they got there, they found it was a false alarm. That story makes me chuckle . . . for several reasons.

This is what the main street of our little town looks

like during the Homecoming Festival in May.

I asked Seth if he'd talked to the fire chief about hypermiling the fire engines. He said the topic hadn't come up.

Speaking of non-hypermiling . . .while he was on his way to the firehouse one evening, he was pulled over just outside of our little town for speeding (he was driving the Escape, not his hypermiling car, the Golf). When Seth told me after he got home, I asked if the officer let him go -- as usual -- after running his registration. Apparently, however, when the officer saw Seth was wearing his volunteer firefighter T-shirt, he asked Seth if he was running late getting to the meeting, and then let him go when Seth answered affirmitively before even running his registration.

Of course, my follow-up question was, "Do you think ---"

And Seth quickly answered, "No. No, you would not be able to get out of a speeding ticket if you told the officer you're the wife of a volunteer firefighter on your way to a meeting." Guess I'll need something else up my sleeve . . . .