We awoke abruptly this morning to an ominous, alien-spaceship-sounding, deep HUM. And the power in our house surged and flickered.
Thinking immediately of the large tree limb that had landed on the live power lines right in front of our house in the wake of Monday's damaging storm, Scott raced to the window in Sam's bedroom above the porch to see what happened.
He was greeted by 5 and 6 foot red flames, coursing up from the spot where a now downed live wire danced madly, eight feet from our rotting wood porch.
I cannot describe to you the adrenaline rush created in me at the sound of my husband's voice yelling "Fire! Fire! Get Charlotte!" at 7 am in the morning. It's not a wave I'd like to ride again.
I bolted out of bed, raced into the baby's room, yanked her bleary-eyed from her crib, grabbed the phone and dialed 911 for the first time in my life.
It rings forever, ringing and ringing. Scott is still running around the house, Sam in his arms, yelling "Fire!" over and over again. I think he was trying to alert our neighbors? A nice lady answers and I garble into the receiver, "There's a downed wire in front of our house! Fire! Big flames! Scary!" and helpful information of that nature, as I pound down the stairs.
She asks something repeatedly, and I can't quite hear her over the sound of Scott still yelling "FIRE!" I think she asks, "MA'AM, is your HOUSE ON FIRE."
All I can say is "I don't know! I just hear my husband screaming 'fire'!" And at this point I'm down the stairs, Charlotte in my arms, out the side door, attempting to peek around the front of our house to see if the flames have actually touched it yet.
Aaaand the flames are just about out. Maybe 6 inches off the ground at this point. I come out of my adrenaline stupor enough to answer the woman, "No. The house is not on fire."
In a few minutes, police men surround us, fire engines on either side of the block. I am still in my jammies, hadn't even gone to the bathroom, fully bed-headed and complete with stinky morning breath, holding Charlotte in her mint green sleep sack.
The neighbors peer at us from their front porch. And from across the street. I guess Scott successfully alerted them.
The police tape off our house. The whole block. The firemen stare at it for a while. And then leave. Nothing they can do unless our actual house is ON FIRE.
Still waiting at 5:04 pm. Not sure if we should be staying here or go. The woman at ComEd said we should stay and "monitor the situation." Hmm.
Poor Sam is traumatized for life by all this. His eyes were the size of saucers and he keeps asking me if the wires will "throw fire again." We both are looking out the windows every 10 minutes, wondering if "the fire is back."
I hope not, Sam. I sure hope not.