You know those moments in the middle of the night when you realize that something must have woken you up but you can't remember what it was and you find yourself almost in a daze (because hey, you're half asleep still) trying to figure it out? I think I do it more often than I realize--we need a new bed, Santa.

This morning I did that only to hear a banging at my door "thud, knock, thud, knock" and the quadruple doorbell ring "dingdingdingding"-- I quickly realize that there is indeed, not a burglar outside my door, or at least I surely hope not (but I don't have much to fear seeing as any burglar who would sound an "alarm" before entering probably wouldn't/couldn't do too much harm, I hope) but I wonder who would be so frantic in the middle of the night--err, morning [it's 4am folks!] I decide to investigate and upon getting up realize I have a headache and the house smells really really odd. The incessant pounding and doorbell ringing has ceased but I open the door anyway to hear all of our outside alarms going plus the fire truck horns and smell the worst smell of my life as I hear our neighbors screaming "get out of your apartments, the building is on fire!" Come again, what?! I stood there for what seemed like a minute (which is a lot in fire time) and which in reality was really only like a millisecond before I realized I needed to wake up my sleeping husband and get us out of our apartment ASAP. 

Earlier that evening I had been rocking a SAWEET pair of footie pjs while watching movies in our living room and cuddling with an almost comatose hubbison who had pulled an all-nighter to finish a paper. Those pjs were on the floor because it got hot that night--so I had a tank top and other necessities on and I had thrown my long robe on to open the door. Why, then, when I came into the bedroom to wake up my husband I did not put those footie pjs back on I will never know. But I didn't. I grabbed my glasses and put on my uggs and considered myself "dressed." I literally had to coax Gar out of bed explaining to him, roughly six times, that we needed to leave the building because it was on fire. He finally got out and got dressed and managed to forget his phone (not sure how, it's like it's attached to his right leg) but had his wallet, keys, and glasses thanks to a fast thinking wife. We left the house at separate times because he said he was right behind me--so I darted with my laptop (only thing that has all of our photos on it) and a blanket to wrap up in (which happened to be laying on the couch) and took the stairs I always take, that lead to the garage. 

Smoke was EVERYWHERE and it smelled AWFUL. To explain how exactly it smells, think of gasoline and firewood (bonfires anyone?) throw a rubber tire on that, heck throw six rubber tires on that and then add some extra chemicals (household cleaners perhaps) and mix it all together and add the smell of a 70+ year old smoker and you have a hint of what it smelled like. It was billowing out of our buildings garage and first floor and I walked right into it. Luckily I've been to enough school fire drills and meetings to know to pull up as much clothing around your face as possible so as to not breathe in the smoke--robe covered my mouth and then with lightning fast reflexes my blanket was in front of my face before I blinked the smoke away from my little, tired eyeballs. I couldn't see Garrison and I wasn't sure exactly what to do in a fire so I walked down our front path and found a bunch of our neighbors huddled next to the other buildings parking garage. Then I saw Garrison and my heart calmed down and I hugged him. I'd never felt so relieved in all my life--its really scary to leave your husband when you're told to leave the apartment because it's on fire--real real hard.

We started to learn about what was going on and found out that the fire was in the garage--a car was on fire and had set another car on fire shortly after we got out of our apartment--we heard the explosion of the other car when that happened and saw the smoke emerge from the garage. It was terrifying. You saw firefighters go into the garage with blindingly bright fog lights and watch the smoke swallow up the light before they had made in halfway into the garage ramp. We were told to back up and back up and back up...the last we saw was a HUGE smoke burst following another explosion and we left with our neighbors to go to 7-11 to get something to drink and to just get away from the smell. We were so confused about what was happening and why--it just didn't make sense--plus we were just trying to keep warm and wrap our tired little minds around the enormity of what had happened. 

With drinks in hand we headed back to the apartment complex only to be directed to a church building where we sat down and cuddled together as much as we could on wooden cultural hall floors. Our buildings owner came over and explained to us that a white pick-up truck had been on fire and set another car on fire around 330am and that the firefighters were finishing up and once they gave the "Okay" we could go back home. It was already about 6 in the morning. He shook each of our hands and apologized profusely, though he really didn't have to--he didn't cause the fire. We had doughnuts and water and when the "okay" was given we walked back, as a group, to see what damage had been done. 

I think we were all worried that our cars had been ruined and that something else had happened that just wasn't explained right..but that wasn't the case. The white pick-up truck was the culprit and it was foreign to all of us (just as it had been when we were told about it). There was an empty parking space, though, next to the pick up--which never happens in our garage--and which probably kept all of us safe from a major explosion of gasoline filled automobiles. The police taped off our garage and we went back to our apartment as daylight began to break through the darkness of the night. 

We walked into our apartment to find soot all over our home. The kitchen floor had thick soot on it and the carpet and our bed and our walls. It was filthy and stunk but we were exhausted and fell asleep with a new blanket on our ashen bed. I think we both went to sleep hoping we had had a bad dream, but we didn't. We woke to a house covered in soot and got to work. Our "new" air filter from last week was COATED in black soot, but probably saved us a lot of work in the end because it collected so much at first. Our air purifier was working overtime while our apartment was full of smoke, it seemed, because it had so much soot that it looked like a "crystal grower" that 6th grade science teachers have in their classrooms. Our home was a MESS. Our balcony was a mess. The only space spared, thank the high heavens, was our closet. We shut off the vent in there last year and keep the door shut at night (because I'm a-scared). So our clothes didn't hold that awful smell, at least. 

What actually woke us up around 10 that morning was the screechy sound of metal which turned out to be the removal of the white pick-up that was (as it turns out) set on fire. We watched from our balcony as they pulled the truck out of the garage and onto a tow-truck. It was so surreal to see what had actually caused us to wake up earlier that morning and to see the damage that fire had to a metal car. 

The rest of our afternoon was spent cleaning our apartment, going to the car wash to remove the soot and ash from our car before it ruined our car permanently and picking up a few more air filters from Home Depot before I went to work. Garrison cleaned the house, after I had scrubbed down the kitchen and the living room on my hands and knees (not even putting a dent into the cleaning that needed to be done) and when I returned home from work we cleaned some more. 

We've still got a lot to clean and I have to watch/listen to my breathing but at least we're safe and no one was harmed from this terrible event. It could've been a lot worse. We could've slept through it and inhaled all of the smoke that entered our apartment while we were out getting drinks at 7-11, that could've been deadly for me and my asthma. Lots of other scenarios could've played out but in the end, we're safe, everyone else is safe, and now we've got a lot of cleaning to do--but at least our apartment will be incredibly clean! I don't think I'll ever realize just how grateful I am for our mediocre bed that causes me to wake up in the middle of the night--or for neighbors that stay next to our door for 2 minutes knocking, banging, and ringing our doorbell until it almost breaks. We truly are very blessed.

You know those moments in the middle of the night when you realize that something must have woken you up but you can't remember what it was and you find yourself almost in a daze (because hey, you're half asleep still) trying to figure it out? I think I do it more often than I realize--we need a new bed, Santa.

This morning I did that only to hear a banging at my door "thud, knock, thud, knock" and the quadruple doorbell ring "dingdingdingding"-- I quickly realize that there is indeed, not a burglar outside my door, or at least I surely hope not (but I don't have much to fear seeing as any burglar who would sound an "alarm" before entering probably wouldn't/couldn't do too much harm, I hope) but I wonder who would be so frantic in the middle of the night--err, morning [it's 4am folks!] I decide to investigate and upon getting up realize I have a headache and the house smells really really odd. The incessant pounding and doorbell ringing has ceased but I open the door anyway to hear all of our outside alarms going plus the fire truck horns and smell the worst smell of my life as I hear our neighbors screaming "get out of your apartments, the building is on fire!" Come again, what?! I stood there for what seemed like a minute (which is a lot in fire time) and which in reality was really only like a millisecond before I realized I needed to wake up my sleeping husband and get us out of our apartment ASAP. 

Earlier that evening I had been rocking a SAWEET pair of footie pjs while watching movies in our living room and cuddling with an almost comatose hubbison who had pulled an all-nighter to finish a paper. Those pjs were on the floor because it got hot that night--so I had a tank top and other necessities on and I had thrown my long robe on to open the door. Why, then, when I came into the bedroom to wake up my husband I did not put those footie pjs back on I will never know. But I didn't. I grabbed my glasses and put on my uggs and considered myself "dressed." I literally had to coax Gar out of bed explaining to him, roughly six times, that we needed to leave the building because it was on fire. He finally got out and got dressed and managed to forget his phone (not sure how, it's like it's attached to his right leg) but had his wallet, keys, and glasses thanks to a fast thinking wife. We left the house at separate times because he said he was right behind me--so I darted with my laptop (only thing that has all of our photos on it) and a blanket to wrap up in (which happened to be laying on the couch) and took the stairs I always take, that lead to the garage. 

Smoke was EVERYWHERE and it smelled AWFUL. To explain how exactly it smells, think of gasoline and firewood (bonfires anyone?) throw a rubber tire on that, heck throw six rubber tires on that and then add some extra chemicals (household cleaners perhaps) and mix it all together and add the smell of a 70+ year old smoker and you have a hint of what it smelled like. It was billowing out of our buildings garage and first floor and I walked right into it. Luckily I've been to enough school fire drills and meetings to know to pull up as much clothing around your face as possible so as to not breathe in the smoke--robe covered my mouth and then with lightning fast reflexes my blanket was in front of my face before I blinked the smoke away from my little, tired eyeballs. I couldn't see Garrison and I wasn't sure exactly what to do in a fire so I walked down our front path and found a bunch of our neighbors huddled next to the other buildings parking garage. Then I saw Garrison and my heart calmed down and I hugged him. I'd never felt so relieved in all my life--its really scary to leave your husband when you're told to leave the apartment because it's on fire--real real hard.

We started to learn about what was going on and found out that the fire was in the garage--a car was on fire and had set another car on fire shortly after we got out of our apartment--we heard the explosion of the other car when that happened and saw the smoke emerge from the garage. It was terrifying. You saw firefighters go into the garage with blindingly bright fog lights and watch the smoke swallow up the light before they had made in halfway into the garage ramp. We were told to back up and back up and back up...the last we saw was a HUGE smoke burst following another explosion and we left with our neighbors to go to 7-11 to get something to drink and to just get away from the smell. We were so confused about what was happening and why--it just didn't make sense--plus we were just trying to keep warm and wrap our tired little minds around the enormity of what had happened. 

With drinks in hand we headed back to the apartment complex only to be directed to a church building where we sat down and cuddled together as much as we could on wooden cultural hall floors. Our buildings owner came over and explained to us that a white pick-up truck had been on fire and set another car on fire around 330am and that the firefighters were finishing up and once they gave the "Okay" we could go back home. It was already about 6 in the morning. He shook each of our hands and apologized profusely, though he really didn't have to--he didn't cause the fire. We had doughnuts and water and when the "okay" was given we walked back, as a group, to see what damage had been done. 

I think we were all worried that our cars had been ruined and that something else had happened that just wasn't explained right..but that wasn't the case. The white pick-up truck was the culprit and it was foreign to all of us (just as it had been when we were told about it). There was an empty parking space, though, next to the pick up--which never happens in our garage--and which probably kept all of us safe from a major explosion of gasoline filled automobiles. The police taped off our garage and we went back to our apartment as daylight began to break through the darkness of the night. 

We walked into our apartment to find soot all over our home. The kitchen floor had thick soot on it and the carpet and our bed and our walls. It was filthy and stunk but we were exhausted and fell asleep with a new blanket on our ashen bed. I think we both went to sleep hoping we had had a bad dream, but we didn't. We woke to a house covered in soot and got to work. Our "new" air filter from last week was COATED in black soot, but probably saved us a lot of work in the end because it collected so much at first. Our air purifier was working overtime while our apartment was full of smoke, it seemed, because it had so much soot that it looked like a "crystal grower" that 6th grade science teachers have in their classrooms. Our home was a MESS. Our balcony was a mess. The only space spared, thank the high heavens, was our closet. We shut off the vent in there last year and keep the door shut at night (because I'm a-scared). So our clothes didn't hold that awful smell, at least. 

What actually woke us up around 10 that morning was the screechy sound of metal which turned out to be the removal of the white pick-up that was (as it turns out) set on fire. We watched from our balcony as they pulled the truck out of the garage and onto a tow-truck. It was so surreal to see what had actually caused us to wake up earlier that morning and to see the damage that fire had to a metal car. 

The rest of our afternoon was spent cleaning our apartment, going to the car wash to remove the soot and ash from our car before it ruined our car permanently and picking up a few more air filters from Home Depot before I went to work. Garrison cleaned the house, after I had scrubbed down the kitchen and the living room on my hands and knees (not even putting a dent into the cleaning that needed to be done) and when I returned home from work we cleaned some more. 

We've still got a lot to clean and I have to watch/listen to my breathing but at least we're safe and no one was harmed from this terrible event. It could've been a lot worse. We could've slept through it and inhaled all of the smoke that entered our apartment while we were out getting drinks at 7-11, that could've been deadly for me and my asthma. Lots of other scenarios could've played out but in the end, we're safe, everyone else is safe, and now we've got a lot of cleaning to do--but at least our apartment will be incredibly clean! I don't think I'll ever realize just how grateful I am for our mediocre bed that causes me to wake up in the middle of the night--or for neighbors that stay next to our door for 2 minutes knocking, banging, and ringing our doorbell until it almost breaks. We truly are very blessed.