Choosing to SEE - Mary Beth Chapman [53]
After all of the fireworks were blown up and the smoke settled down, we gathered food plates, trash, water bottles, and blankets while Steven and the guys collected all the scraps and pieces of burnt-out fireworks and put them in a big cardboard box. He made sure they were extinguished and put the box on top of our big plastic trash cans at the back of the house.
A little after four o’clock in the morning, Steven and I woke up in a panic to the shrieking of our smoke detector/alarm system. Steven ran around the room trying to remember where the keypad was to turn off what we assumed was a false alarm.
When he was finally fully awake and realized that the keypad was downstairs, he noticed a glowing orange hue outside the French doors in our bedroom. He yelled at me that the house was on fire. The ashes looked liked snow, but they were floating upward into the sky.
“Call 911, and get the girls out of the house!” Steven yelled.
He rushed down the stairs to see just where the fire was. I tore up the stairs to Shaoey’s room, pulled her out of bed, and woke her up enough to follow me to Maria and Stevey Joy’s room. Somehow I managed to get both little girls scooped up into my arms. I ran down the stairs and out the back door in record time, holding a little one under each arm, with Shaoey right behind me.
I put all three girls in our Jeep. I told them that the fire department was on the way, that they were not to get out of the car, and that they could watch how Mom and Dad put out a fire . . . kind of like a field trip . . . and then they could watch the firemen once the professionals arrived.
By then, Steven had taken a rake from the garage and pulled the wooden trash bin away from the side of the house. The side of the house had caught on fire from some tiny live ember in the fireworks trash. The windows were already breaking out of my office that held the family computer, files, and legal stuff. I flew into the house to try to save at least the girls’ adoption files, but when I felt my office door, it was too hot to even think about going in.
I grabbed two fire extinguishers from the kitchen and came out of the garage spraying white foam on the fire for all I was worth. Once the extinguishers were empty I ran for the garden hose.
Meanwhile, Steven was breaking up the fire, stomping and stamping on embers . . . in his sleepwear, which consisted of a little pair of tightie whiteys. I dragged the hose to my firefighting superhero and turned it on full blast.
Then, in the distance, we could hear the wail of fire engines approaching. And there was Steven Curtis Chapman out in the driveway, hose in hand, wearing nothing but a pair of undies. All he needed was a “junior firefighter” hat.
At the sound of the sirens, Steven looked down, realized he was in his underwear, and was prompted to take action.
“Here,” he said to me. “Can you take the hose? I’ve got to run inside and get some clothes on before that fire truck drives up the driveway!”
“Of course, go!” I said.
I took the green hose and started spraying down the side of the house. My nightgown was all wet from the hose, but since it was July I wasn’t cold. As the fire engines came roaring around the back of the house, I looked over at the girls to make sure they weren’t scared of the sirens. They were just staring at me. Not moving a muscle. Then the engine stopped and Franklin, Tennessee’s finest firemen and paramedics hopped out.
I was so glad to see somebody who could take over. I was quite certain they would be impressed with the firefighting that Steven and I had done.
About that time, Steven came out of the house with more than underwear on. He looked at me with an odd face that made me realize I needed to look down. As I did, I realized that thanks to the hose, my thin cotton nightgown was absolutely sopping wet . . . and I didn’t have anything on underneath it. I looked like a disheveled participant in a wet T-shirt contest.
“Uh, hi!