This morning I took Samson and Caleb (12 and 9) to a sports class at UVU. As usual, grandpa was in tow. When we arrived back home and pulled into the garage, I heard the smoke alarms blaring. Yes, it was the same smoke alarm system that has gone off at odd times (generally 3:00 am) when not even a candle is burning. I knew I was in for a number of aggravating minutes resetting units. Again. But today was different. The house was filled with smoke.

I knew no one was home, so there was no fear of bodily harm. But after spending three long years planning and building our dream home, thought of having it — and everything we own — go up in flames was horrifying. Running through the smoke, trying to locate the source, my mind flashed with visions of pouring over light fixtures, faucets, sinks, and the thousands of other bits and pieces of a home. I imagined filling my online cart at HomeClick with all the home decor and rebuilding things I'd need. Again.

Yesterday, in a fit of animal passion, Belinda had purchased two tiny quail chicks. She set them up beautifully in her room with the appropriate heated lighting. Sometime after she left for her college classes and we left for sports this morning, the lamp pulled loose, fell into the nesting bin, and began a slow burn of the bedding material.

When I got home, I found a smoldering pile of bedding at the source of the smoke. And the two peeping chicks safely in the other corner.

Other than my frazzled nerves, the only evidence of the “incident” are:

1. Our house smells like a plastic campfire.
2. The doctor (with whom my son had an appointment just minutes after the flames were doused) believes I am a heavy smoker. Very, very heavy.

I'm still going to do some online shopping today. However now it will be for something pretty to remove the smoke odor from every single solitary item in my house.