A story about firetrucks

My mom tells good stories. Growing up, she would always tell us stories about our childhood and we ask for her to tell us more and more. Note: the asking stopped upon the teenage years, even though the stories kept being told well into college. Like, seriously. On one college visit, my friends flocked around her like children at story time to listen to her dramatic retelling of my childhood years. However, I guess that goes to show that she's just a good story teller. But I feel like I should get some credit for giving her material in the first place. 

Today, you're in for a treat because Mom has a story to tell. I was merely going to paraphrase, but decided to ask her to write because it will just be better. Turns out, she had already put something together. She's writing today as "Grammy Hat." 

Here's Mom.

And this is Mom, too (the mature one in back photobombing this cute picture...)

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Look, it’s a bird, it’s a plane, no, it’s a…a…a fire truck.  

I am very fortunate to live near my grandchildren. At times Amy will call and say, “do you want Jackson or Belle?" Other times I have to call and say, “I’m coming to get them.”  Either way, I am thrilled to have my grandchildren with me and I take them at every opportunity.

So awhile back, I took my darling little girl to the community center with me to get information about a family membership.  The ladies in the office were nice enough, but the paperwork was endless.  Suddenly an alarm sounded along with the announcement that the building was to be evacuated.  Men and women came bursting out of the gym.  Moms ran down the hall to rescue their children.  The office ladies scurried about.  I realized my little girl wasn’t by my side. Frantically, I started searching all around. I found her in the hall – right next to the fire alarm!  Loud sirens filled the atmosphere.  In mere minutes, three huge fire trucks and five police cars descended on the community center.  

Oh, my.  

Thinking this was going to cost me my entire life savings, I slowly made my way back into the office.  “Do I need to stay around in case we have to pay for all this?” I asked.  A kind lady responded, “No, you may go ahead and leave.”  As I was leaving, I think she may have added, “And don’t come back," but I can’t be sure. 

When we got buckled into the car and headed home, I asked why she pulled the alarm. Her reply, “Because I wanted to see what would happen." Well, we all found out. 

And by awhile back, I mean 25 years ago. This wasn't my granddaughter, Belle. It was her mother.

Fast forward to this past weekend.

Belle went with me to Trenton to visit Great Grandmothers. While visiting Grandma Dryer, I was sitting down with a cup of tea and a cookie, working a jigsaw puzzle.  In other words, I was experiencing a little slice of heaven.  Grandma, who lives in a senior citizen apartment complex, walked to the window then said, “Come look at this big truck outside.” I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t care about seeing a big truck. However, I could tell she was excited and wanted me to see what she was seeing. I looked out the window and saw, yes, you guessed it – a fire truck.  

Suddenly a wave of deja vu came upon me. I knew my little Belle was responsible for this fire truck. 

Just a few moments before, on our way up the elevator Belle had pushed the alarm. At the time, I wasn't certain she actually pushed it all the way. No alarm sounded. I thought I was being overly anxious so we just continued on so I could deliver the armful of groceries we were bringing to Grandma.

But seeing the fire truck was pretty good proof that something has happened.  

I rushed down the steps, but not before I grabbed Belle for evidence. I asked the kind firemen if they’d come in response to an alarm on the elevator. After they acknowledge that they had, I thrust her forward and apologized on her behalf.  I mean, she’s much cuter than me. They c didn't hold a grudge and they even let Belle climb on the truck. At least there was only one truck this time. (And no police. No senior citizens frantically evacuating their apartments either.)

So, what can I say?  My girls are full of life even if they take years off mine.

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Upon hearing the story from my youth, ad nauseum, I couldn't help but laugh uncontrollably after hearing about this story about Belle. There hasn't been one visit with my parents that they haven't said, "Belle reminds me so much of you!" And I am certain there was a point in time that Mom might have thought, "oh I just wish your daughter would do some of the things that you did.".... only that instead of it happening to me... it happened to her. Again.

I'm still not done laughing.