I guess you could consider every night at my house "weird." I mean, for one thing, my queen-sized arse is crammed into a queen-sized bed with Curtis, Coby (who still insists upon sleeping there), our lab, our pug, and usually a random cat or two. Add in the fact that I have to sleep with a large pillow between my knees lately to keep my hips from aching, and, well ... our queen should really be a California king.
But even despite all that, last night gets chalked up to super-strange in my book.
It didn't help that I was dreaming of zombies all night long, which I always do after watching The Walking Dead on Sundays, but I wouldn't have it any other way because I fricking love that show. (And if you watched last night's episode? OMG. I won't post the spoiler here but I almost died at the ending. So so sad.)
Anyway, I woke up because I was freezing - which was crazy because it's usually the exact opposite. I like my house cool at night, but this was ridiculous. So I got out of bed and went to check the thermostat. Not only was the heat not on, but it had been turned to "cool" - and it was 58 degrees in this piece!! The controls are mounted high up on the wall in our hallway, and the kids never bother it, and I know that neither Curtis nor myself had decided it was time for the A.C. (I mean, it snowed yesterday). You have to lift the cover to access the buttons, so it couldn't have gotten inadvertently bumped. I have no idea how or when it got that way, but I felt like an icicle.
Heat turned on, I went back to bed. I had just fallen asleep when the smoke alarms started going off. I snapped awake in a panic, and before I even thought about it, I began running through the house to see what was on fire. And ... nothing. Not downstairs, not in the garage, nowhere. Yet the alarms were screaming out their middle of the night warning.
What's more, all three of my kids slept right through it. I was astonished; these boys wake up when someone down the street farts. I dread the days when Curtis leaves early for work because that means they'll all be awake, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by like 5 o'clock in the morning. Yet here were the smoke alarms going off, and my babies were sleeping like, well, babies. And I was horrified at the same time: what if something had been on fire and they didn't even notice? We do regular fire drills around here. They know what to do in the event of an emergency. Unless they don't do it because they're, you know, sleeping.
Anyway, we finally got the alarms to shut up. Curtis surmised that it was the sudden change of temperature when I turned the heat on that tripped the sensor. I didn't care what it was as long as I could go the eff back to bed. Which I did. And only had to wake up three more times to pee.
This morning when I walked into the living room, it looked like a freaking dust tornado had gone through. Big clumps of dust covered everything. I recognized it right away as the phenomenon that happens only rarely: when either a.) something hits the ceiling fan, or b.) the ceiling fan blades switch direction. Now, Curtis and I were the last ones in the living room last night, and we have twelve-foot ceilings. It's not like things just go randomly hitting the fan, and I know nobody climbed up there and pushed the directional switch. Yet for some reason, the dust that I've been neglecting decided to make an appearance. All over my furniture and stuff.
It seriously feels like someone came in here last night and just messed with us. You know? Bizarre. So far today, though, things are back to normal around here. Naked breakfast, nose picking, cats chasing dogs - you know, the usual.
Guess we'll see what tonight has in store ...