The smoke detector went off in our bedroom at 3:00 this morning, gently awakening Hugh and me from our slumber.
And, by gently, I mean with the peaceful equivalent of a freight train running over our heads. My heart beat out of my chest for the next three hours, despite Hugh's assurances that the house was in no danger of burning down and that the detectors are old and need to be replaced. I am exhausted, today.
For their parts, the kids rolled pretty well with the interruption in their nightly routine; the Cub roused himself only long enough to ask what the noise was, and to say "Oh. Cool. 'Night", before falling back into a typical teenaged coma.
The Teenager barely moved; I'm not even sure she realized this morning that it had actually happened and wasn't just a dream.
Katie, sleeping in the guest room downstairs, may not have even heard the alarm enough to waken, I'm not sure and I didn't get a chance to ask her this morning.
Thankfully, Hugh had the new detectors in the garage, where they have been stored since he purchased them sometime last spring. Why they had not been installed is a question that only a man can answer, but, apparently it requires at least one nocturnal interruption before they deem it the appropriate time to handle the chore. Hugh got that chance last night, and, as of this afternoon, we have new detectors in every room of the house.
Here's hoping for a sound night's sleep, tonight.
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