Doorbells

When we first moved into our house, there were a lot of little things missing/broken that didn't seem like such a big deal until they were. Like the doorbell. We had this mangled, broken, rusted, corroded piece of crap dangling from the door frame for a long time. And people would hesitantly bury their fingers into its depths, hoping for a sound to chime, and nothing did.

This is because, and we searched, there were no chimes inside the house. One day I couldn't stand the sight of the eyesore any longer and tried to rip the button unit from the brick. Only the screws were so mangled, the thing wouldn't come out. Corey and his friend Harry finally exhumed the thing from the wall and left a gaping hole until we could decide on a replacement.

We bought a fancy wireless doorbell and set up the chimes inside. We set them super loud because when Corey is down in his man cave, he can't hear ANYTHING except, miraculously, the notification that dinner is ready to eat. So now we have a loud doorbell. Then we had a baby. Whoops!

I keep meaning to either dismantle the doorbell or hang a sign near it. Because, my god, when Miles finally gets to sleep it is a shame and a half for something to wake him up. Our doorbell is super sensitive, so sometimes people ring it accidentally every time they walked into our house (not naming names!). Sometimes, it just goes off when a cat walks by our house.

Sometimes, delivery people ring it when they bring some of the metric tons of clothing Miles gets in the mail or the fruit baskets that are sent by angels. But today? Today was my last straw.

Since Miles is now a human being instead of a wailing changeling, he reluctantly takes naps. He started to look tired around 845. I had fed him not moments before, so I changed his diaper and started patting and rocking him. Nothing. Then I put him in the bassinet and just let him suck his thumb and stare at his monkey toys. Nothing.

I took him to the basement and stood by the dehumidifier. I marched up and down the stairs. I set him near his mobile. I played yoga music. I rocked him. I cried. I fed him again. He barfed. I changed his clothes. Nothing. Finally, eighty minutes of love later, he tuckered out. Slipped into slumber. I breathed a great sigh, stood up from the bed, and prepared to do something. Like maybe brush my teeth? Or pee?

But then I peeked out the window and saw them. Evangelists. Walking up toward my porch! Before I could sprint, before I could bellow, before Hell could freeze over, they marched their prairie clothes up my creaky steps, thrust out their plump fingers, and RANG MY DAMN DOORBELL!!!!!! Oh! They rang my doorbell!

I think I just sat down on the floor and melted. I know I hollered something out the window. Something about my baby, who HAD been asleep, and not having time to speak with them just now. Could they please leave? I might have been polite like that. (Although I was terribly impolite with Peyton, who worked the parking booth at the Irish festival this weekend, so who is to say WHAT I said to those buxom ladies who woke my damn baby?) It's ok, though, because they slipped a brochure about Armageddon in the screen door for me to peruse later. Like when my baby is napping I guess.

And, because this is what you do when you have a baby, I went back upstairs and started again. Luckily, he just needed a wee toot on the tit to drift back off. And as soon as it was very clear that he was under, I made a sign to hang near the doorbell: "SSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHH BABY SLEEPING! Please knock SOFTLY! Do NOT ring bell!"

I didn't take the bell down. Why? Because it's so sensitive that I am deeply afraid I will breathe near it and cause it to ring. And damn it, I need him to sleep at least until I can wash my face and put on deodorant. Maybe later, when Miles wakes up, I will dismantle our fancy, loud doorbell.

The moral? Be careful which DIY projects you wish for, I guess.