The other day, my apartment complex had an annual inspection. While they were here, they tested the carbon monoxide detector and the smoke alarm. When they hit the button on the detector, it makes a little beep. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. Besides the usual “Great, I’m protected, it’s still working!”

Anyway. Later that night my hubby and I were laying in bed and I heard this strange beeping noise from the vicinity of my living room. Now, the smoke alarm is by our bedroom and the carbon monoxide detector is in the living room. So immediately, my paranoia kicks in to overdrive.

Me: Ian! HEY. Baby! The carbon monoxide detector is beeping! THAT’S BAD RIGHT?
Hubby: I don’t hear anything.
Me: Well, listen! (beeping continues at regular intervals) Hear that?! You have to go check it out!

Rinse and repeat for a few more minutes until poor hubby finally drags himself out of bed to go look. He call out, “It’s not even beeping!” as he hits the test button. Now I get out of bed. Silly man, he’s probably not hitting the correct thing.

Hmm, he’s right. Doesn’t even sound close to the noise I heard. So as I ponder what the noise could be, we hear it again.

Aha! It’s coming from the computer desk. Hubby walks over and turns off the speakers.

“Must be some alert on your computer.”

Maybe.. mayyybe. But I don’t have alerts set on my computer.

Oh well, I’m tired. We go back to bed.

Beep, beep!

Okay, now I’m just annoyed. Where. is. it. coming. from?! I once again crawl out of bed (it’s now about 4:30 am, the joy) to go investigate. There I stand in the middle of the living room daring the noise to show itself. Finally, it does.

Beep, beep!

Walking over to the computer desk, I grab an old cell phone of hubby’s. The front of it proudly displays the low battery message.

Fabulous. I’m up at this ungodly hour because I’m convinced my family is in danger.. from a dying cell phone. I blame pregnancy hormones.

And now I have to tell my hubby what the noise was.

Good-bye, dignity.

—-

In other words..

My darling daughter, a popsicle is not to be used as a crayon. Please do not “draw” on things with it. Especially a dark blue popsicle on mommy’s new white table cloth.

Perhaps I’ll give her the cell phone to amuse herself with.