Christmas Fire

Ah, Christmas.

Cookies and pies. Movies and games. Blizzards and family. No place to go. Hot apple cider and cocoa. Good tidings of great joy. Soft blankets. Warm fires.

Except the warm fires are usually toasty and pretty. And they are usually in a fireplace. This year our Christmas fire surprised us by happening in our electrical outlet.

Nobody was hurt. The smoke pouring out of the wall was a dead give-away that something was wrong. The horrid smell confirmed any suspicions we had.

Mike, who knew nothing about home maintenance when I married him and is now somehow a genius at it, worked his mojo on the power and took the cover off the outlet and put out the hopeful flames that were trying to dominate that space.

Like the pioneers of old, we were forced to improvise, so we made pancakes on one griddle instead of two, causing the grumbling stomachs of four teenagers no end of despair as they waited for sustenance far longer than they believed possible.

With freezing air pouring through the opened windows and a lot of Febreeze, the smell eventually dissipated. The teenagers survived until the pancakes were available; gifts were opened and appreciated.

Merry Christmas.

Fire and all.

Probably Pizza

"This day has been crazy!" I told Mike on the phone.
"I know. I've had a hard day too."
"I haven't even started cooking supper, so we will be eating late."
"I'm super hungry though."
"Yeah, the kids will be too."
"Let's just order pizza."
"Yeah!! I'll make the phone call!"

So I told my phone to find the phone number for Casey's. It did, and I called in our order. Three minutes later Mike drove into the driveway.

"You're home already?" I asked.
"I was about to drop all this brush off in our burn pile. Then I'll go get the pizza."
"I'll go with you," I said, hopping up into his huge truck while he unloaded the back.

"Pizza for Hintz," Mike told the guy at Casey's when we walked in.
"We don't have a pizza for that name."
"But I called it in half an hour ago," I explained.
"Are you sure you called this location?"
"This is the location we always go to."
"Do you know what number you dialed?"
"No. I just told my phone to find the number, and it did. That is the number I called."
"Why don't you just look on your recently called list and see what number you called?" the pizza guy suggested. "I can tell the location by the number."
"I left my phone at home."

And that began our pizza scavenger hunt around town to find our supper. It was found. It was not near our house. Or anywhere we ever go. It was cold. It was late. It was delicious.

Concert Chaos

You know it's the most wonderful time of the year when the plan for the evening is to get Emery to her orchestra concert by 5:30, watch the concert at 6, rush over to Josiah's school to watch Josiah's band concert at 7, and pick Drake up from swimming at 7:30. Because what brings more Holiday cheer than rushing from one concert to the next?

"Mom," Emery said at 5:05, "we have a problem."
"I'm not accepting problems. It's time to go."
"Well, my door locked behind me, and I'm locked out of my bedroom."
I fought down a moment of panic, and then noticed that she was already dressed. "We can deal with it when we get home since you already have your concert clothes on. Let's just leave."
"That brings me to the problem. My violin and music is in my room."

After three calming breaths, I remembered we had a pointy tool used to open locked doors. I grabbed it out of the laundry cupboard saying a prayer of thanks that I actually remembered where it was just when I needed it. I poked it into the small hole on my side of the doorknob, but nothing happened. I poked again. I poked at an angle. And another angle. Then I shoved and rammed the thing in every direction possible. Then Emery tried. The lock was not to be picked.

"There is only one solution I can think of," I told Emery. "Grab a screwdriver. We will have to take off the doorknob."

I would like to state for the record that the screws used to hold doorknobs together are long. Not just kind of long, but so long you can't believe how much time it takes to get them unscrewed. It was like they were screwed all the way into the next room. Which, I guess, technically, they were.

So another concert has come and gone, and I have a new twitch.

Oh Drake

I actually saved the printed orchestra calendar that came in the mail way back when the temperature was acceptable. And then, having learned from past December chaos, I actually planned ahead, texted the time and location to all grandparents, and told Mike to be home by 6 so we could eat dinner and be at Drake's 7:30 concert. I was cool and collected. Everything was on schedule.

And then my phone rang.

"Mom?" Drake's voice said.
"Yes? Do you need something?" I asked calmly because my schedule was running perfectly, and I had plenty of time to cook dinner and make it to the concert without breaking a sweat.
"Yeah, I forgot to tell you - my concert is at 5."
"5:00?" I shouted.
"Yes."
"5:00 tonight?" I wailed.
"Yes."
"It's 4:15 right now! And we live 20 minutes away!"
"Yeah, that's why I'm calling you now," the always unshakable Drake said in his perpetually calm
voice.
"But, the entire family is planning on showing up at 7:30. The calendar from the school says it is at 7:30."
"I guess it changed."
"Okay," I said out of breath from changing clothes with one hand. "I'll leave as soon as I get supper in the oven, and I'll call everyone on the way."
"Oh, and Mom?"
"Yes?" I huffed.
"I forgot my white dress shirt, and I need it by 4:30. Can you bring it?"
"WHAT?"
"I really need it. Sorry. I didn't know it wasn't in my bag."
"Do you even have a white dress shirt?"
"I don't know. I usually just shove all my dress clothes on the top shelf of my closest. You can look there."

And that is why my son wore a white dress shirt to his concert that was a wrinkled mess everywhere except the very front where I ironed it in 30 seconds while also applying make up. And we ate chips for supper at 9 PM.