This post originally appeared on my blog in January of 2010. I like it and wanted to re-share it. Enjoy.

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Just sat down to light a fire and work a bit since I finally got both babies down. We’re in the middle of the heinous transition from two naps down to one. All of a sudden I have crabapples for children. Today will be a two-napper.

Getting babies down, especially when they’re in a transition, is a rain dance of sorts. Some days, the rain falls with ease. Some days, you have to hop around for what seems like far too long, jumping and gyrating until the stars align.

Anyway, finally got them both down, put the fake log in the fireplace, lit it, only to discover — after a bit of time — that Steve had closed the flue last night. Amazing how much smoke those plood bricks can pump out.

While it was bad, the worst part of the whole mess wasn’t the excessive smoke inhalation. And it wasn’t even that the fire alarm started blaring in the hallway until I opened enough doors and waved a pair of Lane’s red fuzzy Christmas pajamas in front of it vigorously enough (now I’m sweating) that it finally cut off.

The worst part of it all, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, is that the incredibly subtle fire alarm stirred Luke, and he began crab-appling in his room.

I thought I was literally going to put my fist through the wall. I would’ve, too, if I could’ve seen the wall through the haze.

Obscenities. Curses. Gasps. Clenches. Mutterings. Choking. More curses. You get the picture. Hold breath and reach up into the annals of the chimney to pull some secret lever . . . all while madly texting Steve for instructions. Open all doors. Wave pajamas. Try to ignore crab-appling. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Sputter a bit from smoke. Utter the prayer of desperation (which cannot be replicated here as it involves some additional obscenities). Oh, and try to graciously shew off the man from the VA who has appeared on our doorstep in the middle of all this (Yes, of course he rang the doorbell. Or, maybe more appropriately, doorsiren.).

Miraculously, after some ventilation and time, the house has cleared and quieted, and I’m reminded, yet again, that fire alarms are a part of life. So if you’re waving pajamas today, or cursing, or texting madly, or rain dancing, or shewing away one more person who needs something from you, or reaching up into the darkness to try to jiggle a flue loose — literally or figuratively — just know you’re not alone. I think that matters more than anything.

Peace to you.