Thursday, December 07, 2017

Sing in Exultation

As I was eating breakfast this morning, this sky happened.


Of course my phone couldn't capture just how pink and orange and bright the sky really was.

Little tiny snowflakes were falling as well.

I'm not sure why but the phrase from an old familiar Christmas song popped into my head,

"Sing choirs of angels, 
sing in exultation."

If color could be a song, this is what it would look like.


And choirs of angels would definitely be singing it.

I looked up what exultation meant and it is

"lively or triumphant joy, as over success or victory."

Not a bad way to start a morning.

  1. O, Come, All Ye Faithful

    1. Oh, come, all ye faithful,
    Joyful and triumphant!
    Oh, come ye, oh come ye to Bethlehem.
    Come and behold him,
    Born the King of angels;
  2. Oh, come, let us adore him;
    Oh, come, let us adore him;
    Oh, come, let us adore him,
    Christ, the Lord.
  3. 2. — Sing, choirs of angels,
    Sing in exultation;
    — Sing, all ye citizens of heav’n above!
    Glory to God,
    Glory in the highest;
  4. Oh, come, let us adore him;
    Oh, come, let us adore him;
    Oh, come, let us adore him,
    Christ, the Lord.
  5. 3. — Yea, Lord, we greet thee,
    Born this happy morning;
    — Jesus, to thee be all glory giv’n.
    Son of the Father,
    Now in flesh appearing;
  6. Oh, come, let us adore him;
    Oh, come, let us adore him;
    Oh, come, let us adore him,
    Christ, the Lord.
  7. Text: Attr. to John F. Wade, ca. 1711–1786; trans. by Frederick Oakeley, 1802–1880
    Music: Attr. to John F. Wade

Monday, December 04, 2017

Ginger and Spice and Everything…Lice?!

They're baaack!



Click here and here if you want to know how this isn't our first rodeo when it comes to lice.

A week after Thanksgiving, Ellie kept complaining about an itching scalp. 

I looked through her hair and saw nothing.

But to be fair, 
I wasn't using a magnifying glass.

Or even my reading glasses.

I told her it was just dry scalp and to use some Head and Shoulders.

The next week I found her crying in her room before school.

She said her head was still itching and she feared she had lice.

I looked again and saw nothing 
and sent her to school.

She texted me from school and asked for an appointment at the lice center.

I made an appointment after school but it was only for an assessment.

They were booked solid that day 
and couldn't fit in anymore treatments.

Lice is a demanding business.

Within minutes it was determined I did not have lice and that Ellie did.

They booked Ellie at a different lice center across town for the following morning.

Ellie did not like the idea that she would be sitting around 
the entire night KNOWING she had lice.

We stopped at a drug store to get shower caps and large garbage bags for all the pillows I planned to bag up that I couldn't wash.

Ellie was convinced the cashier would find our purchases revealing to her lice diagnosis 
so she threw in some sour gummy worms to "throw him off."

It's a pharmacy.

I have to believe they've seen far more personal 
and outright revealing purchases than 
a 3-pack of shower caps, 
a box of large garbage bags 
and a bag of sour gummy worms.



I called to update Monte.

Within the hour, he called back to say that he'd called around and found a lice place that could get Ellie in that night around 7:00 and that he'd drive her since it was near his office and he was familiar with the area.

Ellie felt better about not missing school and being "lice free" when her head hit the freshly washed pillow that night.

I told her to start contacting close friends that might want to get checked as well.

She'd just been on a Young Life weekend retreat the weekend before Thanksgiving.

And we had hosted family for Thanksgiving.

The list of lice possibilities was growing.

An hour later, one of Ellie's friends, Molly, suspected she had lice and we texted numbers and offered to take her to the lice place so they could go together.

Ellie was so relieved to be going through this with someone else. 

Her mood changed drastically.

Isn't that the cutest houndstooth shower cap?

She found the funny in it.



Molly cried.

Ellie told her she'd go through four distinct stages of lice acceptance:

1. Denial

2. Sadness

3. Anger

4. Humor


Molly was just beginning.

I made dinner and had frantically began the washing of sheets, pillowcases, comforters, blankets and towels.

My friend Beth stopped by while I was distracting myself in between loads by watching Facebook videos of large alligators and people falling down trying to walk on icy sidewalks.

It had clearly been a long afternoon
and I wasn't the best version of myself.


We were busy catching up when I received a few texts and pictures of the girls from Monte.

Ginger and spice and everything lice--that's what TRUE friends are made of.
Or something much less creepy and itchy than that.
You know what I mean.
It wasn't until later that I realized they were standing by a picture of Santa Claus with lice.

Not looking so jolly.
Beth and I were still catching up when in walked Monte, Ellie and Molly with oily slicked back hair.

They were all laughing and talking at the same time.

Molly had advanced nicely 
through those stages of lice acceptance.

Apparently this "lice place" Monte had booked was in a woman's house.

No sign.

No parking lot.

Just instructions 
not to use 
the front door.

Monte knew ALL OF THIS ahead of time.

Which is why he volunteered to take the girls because HE KNEW I'd say 
NO, NO, 
NEVER, NEVER, 
AIN'T NO WAY!

Greasy, sneaky Monte.
Monte asked lots of questions and learned the woman is a single mom and has a full time job. She and her pharmacist brother came up with a proprietary oil mix to smother the lice. 

She does the "lice thing" on the side for extra money.

She was leaving the next week for Disney World paid for by her lice business.

As it turns out, lice is a demanding AND lucrative business.

She was in the beginning stages of franchising her operation.

I saw where this was going and informed Monte that I would NEVER start checking heads for lice in our garage.

With Beth still here, the girls convinced me that I should let them put the proprietary oil mix in my hair "to be sure" I didn't have lice.

It wasn't going to be the dumbest thing I'd ever done, so I agreed.









Beth's husband texted to see where the heck she was and she said she couldn't leave.

Something to the general effect about this episode of "The Hartranfts" was getting good.

Ellie was right.

Going through something with someone else 
certainly does help change the mood drastically.

Beth became our photographer.

I sent this picture to McDaniel and my mom and they both asked,

"Who took this picture?"

I told them Beth was here.

We have lice.

Let's entertain!

Monte must be closing his eyes and dreaming of all that
franchise lice money he wants me to make.

McDaniel came home from college with friends for a concert this weekend. We tried to get her to let us oil her up.

She refused.

She's in the first stage of lice acceptance:

1. Denial

She'll be home in two weeks for Christmas.

The oil and Lice Santa will be waiting for her.

Monte sent this.
I realize that I posted it but
feel the need to point out
he found it.
And it's gross.

Monday, November 20, 2017

That Time I Got My Stitches Out

I didn't handle it well.


Bold color choice.
*SEE NOTE

I never have had stitches that needed to be removed.

They usually just painlessly dissolved on their own.

I'm not sure what constitutes using 
disolvable/removable stitches 
but PLEASE always sign me up 
for the disolvable.

The doctor told me I didn't have to make an appointment and could just pop in to have the stitches removed.

That set a "no biggie/this isn't going to hurt" 
tone for the entire visit for me.

I planned to pop in, 
take care of the stitches 
and then head to a bible study brunch.

They asked me once I went back to the examining room if I'd like to take off my pants.

I told them that I did not.

I rolled up my pant leg and sat on the exam table.

I noticed a beautiful black and white picture on the wall of a tree when an intense pain shot through my leg.

I felt a strong instinct to slap the woman in the neck.

So strong that I wondered if I did for a second.

She told me there was only one stitch left, the others had come out on their own.

Then she said a bunch of stuff about tape 
and it popping back open 
but I couldn't hear 
because I was busy deciding if I was going 
to cry 
or throw up.

But I was fairly sure I hadn't slapped her in the neck 
because she was pretty chipper.

I left and called Monte from the car.

I told him my quandary:

1. to cry

or

2. to throw up.

He said to go to the brunch and eat.

That's the go-to advice in our family:

protein.


And it worked.

The End.

*Don't Google "images of stitches being removed" unless you want to be forced back into a familiar quandary and you end up standing at the fridge eating a piece of turkey midmorning because:  protein.

Thursday, November 09, 2017

Sunday School, Red Solo Cups and the Prophet/Inventor

I taught Sunday School this past week and had Ellie help me since I knew we were going to be making a messy craft/snack.

But it was more of a visual aid to the lesson.

I'll explain more in a minute.


There was a large group of kids and it was Communion Sunday.

Before we broke up by age groups, the youth pastor explained communion and what the bread and juice represented.

When the juice was being passed out, one of the little boys joked with the boy next to him that he was going to get drunk on wine.

Ok…

Then the youth pastor handed Ellie and I two large red Solo cups saying he'd run out of communion cups due to the large group.

I may or may not have said something to Ellie like it really did appear 
as if someone was going to get drunk on wine.

And it wasn't going to be the boy
with the little communion cup.

Ellie said she wanted to take a selfie because some of her friends from more conservative, formal churches thinks this is what it's like at our church anyway.

Drums, 
electric guitars 
and communion from red Solo cups.

To be clear, we drink JUICE during communion.

Juice that I am allergic to by the way.

If I'd downed that Solo cup, 
my throat would've closed as fast as those kids could veer off topic.

The craft was built around the importance of prayer in Daniel's life.

It was so important he didn't stop when he was threatened with being thrown into the lion's den.

In fact, he continued to pray INSIDE the lion's den.

Wouldn't you?

To drive home that priority of prayer,

we handed out small mason jars to each kid.

I told them the jars represented our life.

The same little boy with the wine comment said,

"Empty?"

God Bless you, teachers of America!

We then passed out a few handfuls of M&Ms to each of them saying they represented the important people in their life:

parents, grandparents, siblings, teachers, coaches.

Then we poured in each of their jars, crushed graham crackers representing the things they have to do:

school, homework, music lessons, sports, chores.

Finally, we passed out marshmallows for the kids to put in their jars.

These represented their prayers.

They could not all fit.

After brainstorming a bit about how we could make it all fit, we poured out our jars onto paper towels and started filling our jars again.

This time, we started with our prayers (marshmallows), 
then added the chores (graham cracker dust),
a few more prayers (marshmallows), 
and the important people we love (M&Ms)
and a few more prayers (marshmallows).

It all fit!



Minus a few important people that found their way into mouths 
and the chores that found its way all over the table 
and floor 
and one girl's entire shirt sleeve.

We then explained ways to pray and how it's good to pray the attributes of God.

It was FLYING all over the kindergarten-2nd graders' heads.

I tried to simplify it as best as I could.

I said that God knows everything all the time and we can thank Him for that in our prayers.

One little boy who had not spoken at all said,

with grand hand motions,

"It's like God's mouth is as big as the entire earth…"

I silently prayed that this wouldn't be another 
"drunk on wine" rabbit trail comment.

"And he's saying, for ALL to hear, 
'TRUST ME!'"

He whispered the last part.

Ellie and I were struck silent.
I may have gotten goosebumps.

This kid was a little prophet!

And none of the other kids seemed to appreciate that fact one bit.

I told the kids they could write out something they'd like prayer for on a card and trade with someone.

The prophet boy came up to me and said he couldn't read or write.

He showed me a little robot that he drew on his card, 

one eye WAY bigger than the other, 

and he asked for me to pray for him because he was an inventor 
and he needed prayer for his inventions.

An inventor AND a prophet!

I've thought of this little boy a lot this week.

I talked about him at bible study and then small group and I'm sure I'll bring him up again whenever the opportunity arises.

We make it so complicated.

We try to organize and prioritize our time, our prayers our home, our peace,

stuffing it all into our jars.

But we miss the part when God says,

"TRUST ME!"

With His mouth all wide open and big, apparently,
so all of us will listen up.

We try so hard to do life all on our own, 

not needing anybody,

that we don't ask anyone to pray for us.

Not just for our concerns and worries,

but our gifting and talents.

The dreams deep inside of us,
of robots with or without one bulbous eye.

We miss out on so much when we don't share.

I know I would've if this little boy hadn't.

It has been my privilege to pray for him this week and all the inventions that will come from him one day.

I can only imagine what God has planned for him once he learns to read and write.


The person who trusts in the LORD,
whose confidence indeed is the LORD, is blessed.
Jeremiah 17:7 CSB

Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The earnest prayer of a righteous person has great power and produces wonderful results.
James 5:16 NLT

Monday, November 06, 2017

Grease is the Word. So is Halloween.

This was our first Halloween without McDaniel.

We knew this was coming and started talking about it last year.

While we were home in Indiana last Easter, I ran into a dear high school friend at my parents' church.

He brought up our Halloween costumes and I shared our concerns of how to do pictures so we can use them for our Christmas card with one away at college.

He suggested taking them in the summer while McDaniel was still home.

Of course!

We always get our costumes early during sales so that wouldn't be a problem.

It was so simple yet it had never occurred to us!

So, we contacted a talented photographer, Meghan, who we know through Young Life and had her come over in August.

We borrowed our neighbor's vintage Cadillac convertible and went to the local middle school that our girls attended.

It's almost 100 years old and seriously looks Rydel Highesque from Grease.

On the way to the school, I quickly filled Meghan in on our Halloween tradition and how she was sworn to secrecy on what we were dressing up as until Halloween.

She did a great job.

With the pictures AND keeping the secret.



We live in an area where people are always out and about.

Walking, running, walking dogs, biking, etc.

For whatever reason, 
it was super quiet the day of this photo shoot.

Just one car of teenagers pulled up and got out our their car and stared at us for a moment.

One of them came over and said they were doing a scavenger hunt for their youth group and needed a picture with a hot rod. They couldn't believe we were there in the Cadillac.

We stepped away from the car and allowed them to snap a shot.

They never asked why were dressed the way we were 
or why we were taking pictures in a convertible 
by the middle school.

They got there shot and sped off.

Go Grease Lightning!

We ordered the Pink Ladies jackets online and they came with the scarves.
They rest of their outfits they pieced together from their closets and thrift stores.


Sandy and Danny…at their 30th high school reunion.


Pink Ladies



It was 96 degrees on the day of our photo shoot.

Just two months later, it was in the 40s for Halloween and we FROZE!

I bought cheap canvas shoes on Amazon and used a Sharpie to make them look like
saddle shoes. Ellie has already borrowed them. 


My skirt and sweater came from Amazon which was WAY cheaper than buying the costume.

I printed out the R and megaphone onto iron-on paper and ironed it onto the sweater.



We missed McDaniel but we felt good that we hadn't missed our tradition.

Of course the T-Rex had to make an appearance too.

I feel a new tradition coming…


My baby came by for a visit again.





I had fun chasing this super hero to the candy bowl.


I have wanted to take these pictures for a long time.

There's a Port-a-Pot in the front yard of the house under construction two doors down.

When you gotta go, you gotta go!


Hope everyone had a good Halloween!

Wednesday, October 25, 2017

Bumps and Lumps

Getting older is a pain.

Literally.

Monte made fun of his sister PROFUSELY when she brought this contraption with her from Texas this summer. 

It kind of looks like a tire iron.

It is better than a massager because it concentrates on pressure points.

To my surprise, one arrived in the mail last week.

Monte never tells me about the things he orders.


You put the hook part on your back or shoulder or elbow and pull it forward to work through the tension of your pain.

Monte and I fight over it at night.

Don't we sound like a blast?

It's super heavy.

I was lying on the couch watching TV the other night 
spinning this tool around mindlessly 
when the ball end of one of the hooks 
clocked me on the bridge of my nose, 
right between the eyes.

I thought I broke my nose 
and I'd have to tell the ER doctor just how I did it.

Moving on…

I went to the dermatologist a few weeks ago to get a routine mole check.

She told me the mole on my neck wasn't actually a mole but a skin tag.

A skin tag that would continue to get bigger with age.

Since I don't want to eventually be called "Grandma Mole Neck,"
I took the doctor up on her offer to remove it.

And no, I did not tell her about the Frankincense incident.

The doctor also wanted a bump on my calf removed and sent to a lab.

That would require surgery and 10 stitches.

Seriously?


I stood at the front desk for a long while trying to come up with a good time to get all this done. The front desk lady and I went back and forth but finally settled on a good time to slice open my calf and safely burn something off my neck.

I went home to discover I had put my dress on backwards after my exam.

My dress had pretty significant detailing on the neck line indicating that it was a front, not a back.

I'm really hoping my long hair covered it.

And I'm  SUPER thankful 
I didn't run any errands afterwards.

Yesterday Monte took me in for my appointment/surgery.

I went back by myself to get the skin tag on my neck removed and some things on my back I wasn't aware were there.

The nurse informed me the topical anesthetic would sting.

It did but it was NOTHING compared to the chemical burn of the Frankincense!

I didn't tell her that because I was too overwhelmed 
by the smell of my own burning flesh.

She didn't even have on a mask.

How does she DO THAT everyday?

They then led me to the surgery room and had Monte join me.

I was surprised they let Monte stay during the procedure.

The doctor told me to lie on my stomach on the table.

I foolishly thought that would be super comfy.

She had a student with her to assist in the surgery.

They were busy chatting away when the doctor said something about me feeling the prick of the needle that would numb my leg.

She inserted the needle into the bump on my leg.
A piece of broken glass slicing open my calf would've felt better.

I instantly wanted to say all the bad words.
But they just came out as a noise.

I got sweaty on my upper lip.

Everything after that was preoccupied by trying to figure out what they were doing, wondering why I was having muscle spasms in part of my calf and WHY IN THE WORLD the doctor and the student were debating the best way to handle the practice of female body part mutilation in different parts of the world.

I wanted to turn around and look at Monte but I was afraid to move.

He told me later I would've found his nose in his phone 
because he didn't want to see why there was smoke coming from the table.

After the surgery, they wrapped me up in a sassy pink bandage.


My calf was completely numb.

It is very strange to walk on a foot you can feel with a calf you cannot.

My brain misfired and I couldn't decide if I should limp 
or drag my leg behind me.

Walking to the car was an odd series of choices 
on what to do with my partially dead leg.


Overall, I liked the doctor and the practice very much.

I have to put a special gel on all my spots where the lumps and bumps used to be to prevent scabbing.

This afternoon, I get to redress my wound.

Fun times.

I go back in 14 days to get the stitches removed.

In the meantime, no running and jumping for me.

But the aftercare sheet said nothing about not cooking dinner 
or doing laundry.

Womp womp.




Monday, October 23, 2017

Deflated

Friday our church had a Harvest Fest with a Trunk or Treat.

Last year, our adorable youth pastor's wife decorated her trunk and I decided we had to do that this year.

Last week was super busy so I didn't get to work on the decorations until a few hours before the event.

I decided on a Jurassic Park theme since:

 1) We had the costumes.

Ellie was babysitting and McDaniel is away at college so it was just going to be Dr. Graham and T-Rex at Trunk or Treat.

2) Monte has an orange Jeep.

3) Dinosaurs.
Duh

I vowed to not spend a dime.


Using a box from Amazon, I cut and covered the cardboard with a brown grocery sack to make the back of Monte's Jeep look like the entrance to Jurassic Park.



I taped black card stock paper to look like a torch and crumbled some orangish/red scrapbook paper to be the flames.

I just propped them up in the back of his Jeep and brought two ferns from our back yard and the Jurassic Park logo I printed out a few times and strung together to make a banner.

Other than my cardboard being a little too wide for the Jeep, everything worked out fine for the props.

It was my inflatable dinosaur costume that fell flat.

Literally.

I replaced the batteries for the fan before I left and even brought more batteries with us.

No matter what I did, I could not get the crazy dinosaur costume to inflate!

Womp womp


I could feel the air coming out of the fan but it just wouldn't blow up already!

I could hear the kids coming by excited about Monte's outfit and the decorations than there was always an,

"Oh!"

or an

"Aww…"

when they got a peek at my sad, 
anemic, 
prehistoric self, 
trying to hide by the side of the car.



I even heard a,

"He looks dehydrated!"

The inside of the suit was quite humid 
and I could've used a sip of water for sure.

One little boy, came over to me and said,

"I got you. I'm going to help!"

He held my deflated head up so I could feel around for the fan or a tear in the costume or something.

He introduced himself and his brother.

He loudly whispered to him,

"It's a girl!"

I thanked him over and over 
but told him it seemed to be broken.

He left to continue his trunk or treating.

I never saw his face.

I was so disappointed.

This T-Rex does not look well.


I had envisioned me chasing the kids around the parking lot.

Taking pictures with them.

Popping out from the side of the car to 
scare surprise them.


Instead, they all felt sorry for me.

The extinct jokes were coming fast.

We drove home in silence.

Back at the house, we looked at every square inch of the dinosaur suit for a tear but found none.

We pulled out the directions and Monte figured out that I had put the fan in the suit backwards.

There was no way for the fan to intake any air to blow up the suit.

Once the fan was flipped it inflated in seconds!

Yay!

I had Monte take a picture of me in the inflated suit so I could send it to the mom of the little boy who thought I was dehydrated.

How do you like me now?

You know, there's a lesson in this.

On my own, I'm just a dehydrated shell filled 
with hot, 
humid, 
recycled air 

that isn't even enough to lift my own head.

But when the fan is pulling air from another source,

much more powerful than me,

I'm filled right away.

John 10:10
The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; 
I have come that they may have life, 
and have it to the full.



Psalm 121:1-2
I lift my eyes to the mountains--
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

That Time I Charbroiled the Bathroom

There was an incident.

Just a few short days after the fried pickle incident, the smoke alarm robot yet again spoke up loud and clear that her overly-sensitive sniffer whiffed some smoke and she was going to make a loud sound.

My prayer group had just finished and the ladies were still here chatting.

As I was grabbing a chair, I heard a lady apologize from the bathroom something about the candle.

I assumed she blew it out 
and the smoke irritated the robot lady.

I told her it was fine and to just keep the door closed when she was finished.

I turned off the smoke alarm and forgot all about it.

About an hour later I was upstairs when I heard the smoke alarm robot lady say something.

I waited but no beeping followed.

Again, I went about my business.

Shaking my head because this smoke alarm 
was more like a false alarm.

A friend stopped over to drop off some books.

We chatted in the kitchen for awhile.

I complained to her about the ridiculous 
"false alarms" of Smoke Alarm Robot.

All in all, it was about SIX HOURS LATER when I finally went into the small bathroom off our kitchen to see that the candle I had lit that morning was still burning.

Tall and bright.

After that it was just a rapid fire series of discoveries.

The toilet seat was soot covered.

The walls, especially the corners, were black.

The ceiling, Soot City.

No.


No!


NO!

Smoke Alarm Robot tried to tell me.

I ignored her!

To my credit, 
she had cried wolf a few times.


Why?!

 How?!



The candle still had some wax in it.

I did not understand the Armageddon it set off.

Bliss, my foot.

I grabbed a spray bottle and mixed up water and Dawn, grabbed some kitchen gloves and went to town scrubbing the walls.

Some came off, some didn't but overall I was making things SO. MUCH. WORSE by rubbing it all in.

I searched the internet what to do.

It recommended I use rubbing alcohol.

But just like that time it told me to put Frankincense on the mole on my neck before I went to bed, the internet BETRAYED ME.


The rubbing alcohol took the paint off the wall.

Guess where I used to have a picture hanging.
It looks like I chalk outlined its body for a police report.

I furiously sprayed and scrubbed, sprayed and scrubbed.

At one point, I thought if I could just get some sort of pattern going with my soot-smearing, that I might be able to pass the bathroom off as some sort of creative "leathering" or "rag rolling" paint technique.



Then I started in on the ceiling.



Bad.


Bad!


BAD!



It was just ALL BAD!

Somewhere in the middle of my soot smear, Monte got home from work.

He asked what I was doing.

"Something bad happened,"

I said in defeat.

He listened quietly to the whole howler monkey pitch of my story.

I left nothing out.


He walked away and said he was glad it was just smoke damage and not fire damage.

Then he casually passed through the hallway again as I continued my futile efforts and added,

"The smoke alarm robot tried to save your life."

I agreed but I silently vowed to 
NEVER apologize to that smug white squawk box, 
even if Monte asked.



The next morning, I went to the paint store and then spent the ENTIRE DAY painting the walls, ceiling, trim and door.

For such a small room there was lots to work around with the sink, light fixtures, mirror and toilet.

I wasn't about to get Monte involved.

Guess who's judging presence kept an eye on me during the repainting?



As I recounted my bad story to friends, they all asked if I had trimmed the wick of the candle.

Trim the wick?!

I didn't realize this was still a thing
 this side of The Little House on the Prairie.

And boy did I learn the hard way.



**NOTE:  As I was typing this, Monte asked if I was having trouble with the wifi. When I said no, he said The Nest thermostat was having trouble connecting. He looked at me accusingly.

"It knows I'm writing about its Smoke Alarm Robot sister?!"

Monte took this picture.


Failed to connect indeed.

Monday, October 16, 2017

Strike Two

Ellie decided to make fried pickles after school the other day.

I told her to be sure to turn on the exhaust fan lest the smoke alarm robot flip out.

Oh, why do I even speak words sometimes?

The smoke alarm robot lady flipped out.

She warned us there was smoke.

She warned us that there would be a loud sound.

Then she beeped 
and warned 
over 
and over 
and over 
again.

I got my chair out and tried to turn her off but she told me she could not be shut off.

What?!

I went to my phone app and got the same message when I tried to shut her down remotely.

The dog turned into a shaky, nervous mess.

We ruined him on beeping noises years ago 
with an ill-advised shock collar.

The robot kept telling us there was smoke even though the exhaust fan was on and Ellie was simply frying pickles.

Smoke Alarm Robot Lady shut down the AC and I couldn't get it back on so I opened the windows and nothing seemed to convince her that there was not in fact a fire happening in our house.

Finally, after what seemed like 4 weeks, 
the blasted alarm stopped beeping 
and Smoke Alarm Robot Lady said the smoke was dissipating.

I told Ellie those fried pickles had better be the best things ever.

They were. 
They really were!

I informed Monte I was not happy with Smoke Alarm Robot.

In my head I noted:

"STRIKE TWO!"

And I tried to remember the last place 
I saw Monte's Louisville Slugger baseball bat.

I'm not sure I have a Strike Three in me.

But I might be able to summon the strength to Carrie Underwood Smoke Alarm Robot.