When Worlds Collide

Sweet.  Almost a perfect NFL Sunday.  As you may know the requirements are 1) Bronco victory, 2) a SD, KC and Oakland loss and 3) a sad Peyton Manning.  The Broncos beating Kansas City fulfilled two requirements, Oakland lost and Peyton threw SIX interceptions.  Very, very sad indeed. 

Then we all slipped into our evening routine...at about that same time, somewhere in the Denver metro area, a carpenter slumbered peacefully.  He could do so because his air compressor was left on and plugged in at our house, not his.

Weeks ago I could've told you to avoid having a newborn and a home renovation project at the same time.  But it would be at about two this morning, as I stood confused and naked in our wasteland of a living room, that I would have shared that information with great emphasis. 

This brief story could almost be told as a Night Before Christmas parody.  Not a creature was stirring except Sarah and Quin, who were engaged in the miracle breastfeeding.  It's crazy.  Nutritious food comes out of her boobs.  It cannot get any better than that.  

For me, nothing was stirring.  I was gone, blotted out by a weekend that included walking half a mile with a laptop, two cameras and painting supplies after our pickup blew a radiator hose.   Paco and I continued our deep sleep--man and beast spooning--even as Sarah and Quin shared the unique sensation of terror caused by someone bursting into your home with a running lawn mower.

After about a minute of dealing with this by herself (Quin, you'll get more credit when you can walk), Sarah shouted a more threatening form of, "sweetie, it's time to get up," and that's when I heard the engine running in our house and scampered down the hallway.  My brain and all its parts rushed to put together a working system.   I was about ten feet from the intruder.  Completely naked, I felt I needed to be a little more prepared to confront whatever was in our house.  In all my freshly wakened genius, I felt that putting on underwear would be just the trick to discourage the invader.  So I ran back to the room, stumbled around trying to get the proper leg into the appropriate hole, and sprinted back out to the source of the  noise, which for all we knew could have been a plane taxiing around our living room. 

Terrified---I mean scared to the point of physical illness--I groped around the house for a light switch.  By this time our fierce watch dog was up and adding to the chaos.  That's one downside of entering a home with a loud engine, you can't hear the threatening noises a dog makes.  Although noise is pretty much all Paco brings to the table.  And bad gas, but I've yet to train him to use that on anyone but his loving family.   

The dog and I tripped over each other for a while--an intimidating display to any adversary--before discovering the kitchen carpenter's compressor the source of the fear mongering.  Then, looking like a Cro Magnon crouched over man's first flame, I tried to figure out how to turn it off.  I yelled at Sarah to come out because everything was OK.  She made her way out of the nursery.  She clutched Quin the way you see women in war torn countries hang onto their child.  

All I could figure to do was yank the plug from the wall.  I was hammered on adrenaline.  A better juice for attacking animated villains, not idle ones with lots of buttons. 

Calm restored, we all went back to bed.  Or at least I did, but then again I never really woke up.  

Paco stayed up to keep the calm.