As a mother, I thought I knew what torture was. Listening to your newborn baby cry inconsolably for some indeterminable reason. Listening to your toddler scream as they thrash around on the floor in the throws of a tantrum. Listening to your child rant about why you're the world's worst mother as they noisily stomp down the hall before slamming their bedroom door with a loud exclamation point. Listening to your child struggle to breathe while sobs of hurt and rejection rack their body.  Listening to the dazed voice of your teen when they call to let you know that they have just been in a car accident.




Not too long ago, *BEEP* I learned that  real *BEEP* torture is listening to *BEEP* your smoke detector alarm *BEEP* sound and a loud *BEEP* automated voice announcing *BEEP* "low battery" every sixty *BEEP* seconds. Our smoke detectors *BEEP* are all connected to *BEEP* a central detector . Two trips *BEEP* to the neighborhood store *BEEP*and the batteries  are all *BEEP* replaced.  The one that *BEEP* was low was the one *BEEP* they are all connected *BEEP* to.  After several inspections and some research on the internet, I was able to locate where the battery was hidden.  Good thing, too.  The next step was ripping the *BEEP*ing thing down from the ceiling!
 
Life is never boring; especially when Uncle Sam sends my husband to some far off land for a few weeks to practice his skills.