Ah, the smoke detectors. I had taken a
peach and blueberry crisp to Clifton's office, complete with ice cream. Of course, Finley was with me. When we returned to the house, all the smoke detectors were going off. And not just a little beep, it was a full on blare. I left Finley in the car, then checked to make sure there was no smoke, there wasn't any. The kitchen was safe, just insanely loud. Finley was terrified and kept asking me to make it stop. I dragged the ladder in from the garage and took every smoke detector down in the house. Once the detectors in the bottom floors had stopped, Finley seemed a little better, but I was still crazed trying to get the other smoke detectors down. I was dragging the ladder around and climbing higher than I ever wanted to climb, but I got all the detectors down. Except one. Our fourth floor has a barrel ceiling and it is really high. High enough, that I had to stand on the top of the ladder, two steps above where you are never supposed to stand. After all that fuss, I finally got it down. I vacuumed out all the detectors and got all of them back up on the ceiling. All except the one on the top floor. I wasnt braving that ladder again, I was going to let Clifton tackle that one since he is 6" taller than I am. Everywhere we go, Finley tells people about the smoke detectors. The ladies who work at the gym, cashiers at the grocer, her coach at gymnastics (who asked me what was going on with the "beef smoke tractors")... And Finley's favorite thing to tell was that daddy had one more smoke detector to fix after mommy fixed all the smoke detectors. Yesterday, Daddy and Finley finally fixed the last smoke detector together. And Finley was so pleased! Hopefully, this stops her from telling the whole world about the smoke detectors, but I doubt it.
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