We had an issue last night. It was, as they say, “High Drama.”

First, let me give you the background. It was a crazy day. Conal and I ran errands in the morning and then scooted over to the library for storytime. Back home, we ate lunch, played for a bit and then it was naptime. Only Conal decided it wasn’t. He was more interested in screaming time. And crying time. Screaming, crying time.

So, that’s what we did. We had screaming, crying time for a good two hours and then a quick nap. By the time the far-too-short nap was over, it was time for me to rush around and get ready to meet Owen at his office at 5:10 so I could hand-off Conal before heading to my 5:30 meeting. What this all meant was that I didn’t have any time to make dinner. Owen and Conal were going to be on their own.

The hand-off was fine, I went to my meeting and was out by 7:40 to get home in time to kiss Conal good night and relieve Owen so he could go to his volleyball game. Phew! Owen left, I changed into running gear and headed to the basement for a run.

So, the point is, there was a lot going on.

When Owen arrived back home at 10:30, he smelled something funny. He looked at the stove and noticed that one of the knobs wasn’t in the off position — but the burner wasn’t on. Yeah, so, the gas was flowing but not being burned off. The gas was flowing into our house, freely. Just going wherever it pleased. And had been doing so, presumably, since Owen made dinner around 6pm. That’s 4+ hours.

Um, let’s just say I was a little nervous.

Owen called the fire department to ask if there was anything in particular that we should do, aside from air out the house (in 2 degree weather!). Why yes, the nice dispatcher said, GET OUT OF THE HOUSE AND CALL 911!

And so we did.

I grabbed up Conal and we went to sit in the car. Owen called 911 and the dispatcher said they would send over “a guy” with a meter to check things out.

Now, I expected to see a guy. A guy as in one guy. One vehicle, one guy. Well, we got our guy. He showed up in a vehicle with flashing lights. No problem. It is probably protocol, I thought. And then the other vehicle drove up about a minute later. No lights on that one, just another guy. And then the paramedics pulled up, with flashing lights. Followed, of course, by the big fire truck, red and yellow lights flashing like crazy, huge flood lights illuminating our entire yard, driveway and house, with 4 (or 6, depending on whether you believe Owen or me) guys.

That’s not “a guy.” That’s MANY guys. Many guys in head-to-toe gear walking around our driveway at 11pm.

They went in the house. Came out. Went in again. They talked to Owen. I sat in the car with Conal. Conal figured he was having a dream.

The paramedic left. The firemen determined that the gas level was safe and so they left, too. The guy — the first guy, the guy who, it turns out, was the one who originally advised us to get out of the house — hung around and told Owen that it is better to be safe than sorry and that you need to take precautions and, hey, if there is anything else that we need, we should just call. So friendly, that one! And at 11:30 at night, no less.

Then he left and the drama was over. We put Conal back in bed and decided it was high time for a cocktail.

I hope to never see those firemen again!