It’s happened twice.  And both were bad ideas.  I’ve told Eddie that he’s right, he’s perfect, it’s not his responsibility, yada yada yada.  Any hoo…this is how it went.

I smelled a little gas.  It wasn’t the first time but I was getting fed up with my mom mentioning it every time she came over.  Insinuating in her own motherly fashion that houses of fire captains shouldn’t smell like gas.  Right.

Eddie was away swift water rescue training or at Comdex in Las Vegas or whatever nonsense he was using to get out of the house, I couldn’t reach him, I had just read an article in my Parent’s magazine about carbon monoxide poisoning, I really missed him and…the excuse list is endless as usual.

The county guys came.  I had to admit my husband’s career choice.  (Not to mention my hobby of writing down every meeting I’m lucky enough to have with these guys.)  They said “Not to worry ma’am but lets get the gas co. on the phone for you pronto just to check.”  The meeting with the gas co.
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was more embarrassing than the firefighters.  Apparently the gas smell is common among firefighter’s homes, so ladies listen up, husband doing the kitchen remodel?  Tinkering with the dryer?  Let him!  It’s practically harmless!

Seriously, all was fine.  And even my mother had to lay off.  But that didn’t stop her from calling 911 when she was here taking care of Samantha when we were out of town.
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She forgot how to handle a nosebleed.  Don’t spell check that dear editor, that’s right, nosebleed.  Samantha had had an eventful day with Grandma Felicia enjoying the bear exhibit (I love when S. says eggs-zib-it) at the LA County Museum of Art.  But before she was settled in watching mom’s Shakespeare’s animated video of Midsummer’s Night’s Dream the nose was awakened.

To hear my mother describe it: It was torrential.  To hear Samantha describe it: The paramedics saved her life.  Not to be too graphic but my mother said it kept coming like the last dam burst in Santa Clarita.  She couldn’t remember how she handled it with my brother Mike when he was a kid and instead of bothering the busy doctor in Tucson, she called 911.

Of course she’s my mother so she had to tell them that her son-in-law was gallivanting in Las Vegas instead of being here where he was needed.  And did she happen to mention that Eddie is a paramedic as well?  Of course she did.  Like mother like daughter.  (Another of Eddie’s biggest fears.)

They told her what end of Samantha’s nose to pinch and even though the sieve had finally run out they came over anyway, just to check.  Samantha was more impressed than scared, thank God.  She told me that she didn’t miss having me here.  At four years old it’s the perfect age to forget fear and focus on fun.

Now if I can just get this forty-year-old to do the same so my better half can relax.