The Fire Wife

Letting Go, How 9/11 Changed our Lives Forever

2011-09-11T15:18:00.001-07:00

I've written this a thousand times in my head but every time I've sat down at my computer to write it out, I'm unable to say what I need to say.

It's been 65 days.

I'm never going to be able to tell our story in a way that people will understand. I'm never going to understand how, 10 years later, the anniversary of 9/11 paired with being the wife of a firefighter has brought up such raw emotion each day leading up to today. I'm never going to fully comprehend how what we experienced in Norway 65 days ago relates to 9/11.

All I know is that it does.

It all does.

We live on the west coast. A continent away from the attacks that took place on 9/11, but as any firefighter will tell you, those were his brothers racing towards the burning buildings. Those were his brothers pulling people out. Those were his brothers being crushed when the towers fell. Those are his brothers still dealing with the physical effects and emotional scars of what happened on September 11, 2001, every single day.

When you're married to a firefighter, you don't get to "forget." You don't get to "move on." Much like the military is a family, the firefighter family spans age, race and gender and unites us all no matter where in the world we may be. Every man is your husband, father, uncle, friend or son. Every tragedy could have been him.

If Seattle had been the target of an attack, my husbands department would have been one of the neighboring departments called in and I could be in the same exact situation as those who lost loved ones in NYC, DC or Pennsylvania.

So when my children turned their heads to me and asked, "Could that happen to Daddy?" I had to answer as truthfully as I knew how, "Yes, but it won't."

This is what it's like for a firefighter family.

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Sailing into Oslo that morning, we knew immediately this place reminded us of home in the Pacific Northwest. It was green and hilly, a stark contrast to the flatness and lack of evergreens in Denmark. We felt an instant ease and familiarity although we had never been there and didn't understand the language. It felt right.

It had been raining heavily off and on that Friday, but that hadn't stopped us from seeing the city. The first thing we did after leaving the ship that morning was to take a 2 hour bus tour of the city, Holmenkollen and Vigeland Gardens. We figured that since we truly would be on our own, without our Copenhagen family to act as tour guides, it would be a great way to get an overview of Oslo and acquaint us with some local facts and maybe even some insider tips on how to do the city. We were really excited.

The bus left the City Hall and wound its way through the narrow cobblestone streets that make up a lot of the surface in Oslo. We drove by the parliamentary buildings, famous museums and the government buildings which flanked a large parklike space of land.

We did the touristy thing, following our tour guide and her little golden flag around at each stop. She shared stories of Norway and we were grateful for her chipper execution despite the pouring rain. When the bus dropped us back off at City Hall, we felt prepared to tackle what little bit of Oslo we could see in the time we had.

After waiting out the rain in City Hall, touring the incredible rooms and reading everything we came in contact with, we braved the rain to find a cozy spot for lunch. We nourished ourselves with a delicious fritatta and even more delicious coffee before going souvenir shopping and eventually finding our way back to the waterfront and the Nobel Peace Center, which was a priority on our "Things to see in Oslo" list.

There, we inhaled the messages of peace, non-violence and humanity that seemed to shout from every square millimeter of space in that building. We gazed upon the faces of Nobel Peace recipients and felt humbled. We sent an email home from an interactive exhibit about Nansen.

That's how my mom knew where we were when she heard the news that morning.

When we walked out of the Nobel Peace Center in downtown Oslo on July 22nd, we had about an hour before we had to be back to our ship to Copenhagen. It was "that time of day," the time of day we'd grown accustomed to (in a very short time mind you) to having a little pre-dinner snack of pastry or soft ice. We looked to our left, back towards City Hall and the downtown area that we'd already seem much of. We looked to our right, a meandering walkway along the harbor flanked by retail shops on one side and what looked like ice cream kiosks on the water side. We knew which way to go.

No sooner than had we begun walking to the right, we heard a loud noise.

Noise.

I don't know how to articulate what that deafening noise sounded like. It wasn't a gun. It wasn't a firework. It didn't sound like a canon, although we heard from the myriad of voices in different languages surrounding us, someone saying "canon." We checked our watches, thinking maybe this was a customary Oslo thing to do at this time of day on a Friday, but nothing made sense.

What we did know, was to get moving.

We could see a giant cloud of smoke, ash and debris from where we were standing. Little bits of unknown. I kept thinking it must have been an accident, something went wrong somewhere or maybe it was a gas explosion.

Brett knew that it wasn't.

Things you know when something unexpected happens in a place where you are unfamiliar and you have zero access to information: you want to be anywhere other than here and you would give anything for a cell phone.

We had no phone, nothing. We relied on observing what those around us were doing, staying together and listening to our instincts.

Instinct told me to get out of there.

Instinct told Brett to get out of there, and to see if anyone needed help (the firefighter instinct, the instinct that makes him such a wonderful husband, father and person, the instinct that I love).

We decided that everyone seemed calm enough to turn left into the city streets from the relative safety of the waterfront to see if we could help. We passed people pressed into doorways, speaking in different languages. "Terrorista" and "bomba" were words we understood. We passed a mother on a cell phone, holding the hand of a young daughter, a stricken look on her face that all was not right. We passed a mother with a buggy, running the opposite direction from the way we were walking. We kept walking. But nobody seemed to be panicking too much.

We were almost to the open area where the government buildings stood when we saw them.

A half a block away, so many people, running towards us. A mob. Running away from something.

Brett grabbed my hand, looked at me, and said, "Nice, easy jog back to the boat. Here we go."

I stood for what seemed like a moment but was probably only a tiny sliver of a second, willing the tears not to come out of my eyes, willing myself to stop thinking I'd never see my children again, willing myself to hold it together and I ran with my husband back towards the waterfront.

I never looked back.

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When people say they don't understand what the big deal is about 9/11, and that we are giving too much attention to the anniversary, I want to slink into my skin and become invisible.

We've always honored this day as a firefighter family, by doing things that we thought were meaningful. A moment of silence at the dinner table, telling our children our memories of that day or by going somewhere peaceful, away from it all. We know turning off the media is important. We know bombarding them with images is harmful. But we also know that we are American, and like it or not, this is OUR history. We share this history with everyone.

It's been incredibly hard for us this year. The combination of being in the fire service for my husband coupled with the terrorist attack in Oslo that is now a part of our shared history, has taken it's toll and I don't know how to fix it other than to write it out and finally try to take a step towards letting go.

It's all I know.

To tell, to write, to share.

Yesterday, Brett and the kids spent all day working on a new flagpole for our front yard. It's BIG. When he called for me to come take a look at it, I was overwhelmed. There were my 3 children, holding up the flagpole so Dad could get it's position just right before putting the finishing touches on it and pouring the concrete which will keep it in place.

It has a shiny fire nozzle on top and two 2011 dollar coins pressed into it's base, along with my daughters initials since she wasn't born when we raised the flagpole at our first house.

This morning at 5:46am, we got up, bleary-eyed and full of sleep, to raise the flag.

The kids helping with the placement of the flagpole, 9/10/11

It's not much, but hopefully it will be enough to help us remember and to let go of the terrorist experiences that have become a part of our story, our history, us.

Mothers Day Hints for Firefighters

2011-04-26T13:23:00.000-07:00

If the men in your life are anything like mine, they don't know the difference between a Le Cruset and a "Tarjay." In other words, girly girl gifts escape him.

My friend's husband buys her purses for birthdays and holidays. And nice purses too. I am in awe of how he does it, as I have no knowledge of him employing the help of any female to get the job done. It's a mystery...

Not that I'm complaining but if my husband bought me a purse, I would likely receive something cammo or canvas. And it would be multi-functional and probably have thousands of carabeeners and pockets because every woman needs a purse that can double as a survival tent, right?

So this year, to make his job a little easier I'm going to direct him to the fabulous shop over at Firefighters Wives. Basically, all he has to do is blindfold himself and point at something on the screen. It's a no brainer!

The Way We Were

2011-03-21T22:58:00.001-07:00

Our Family, 2001 - Fire Academy Graduation

Washington State Fire Training Academy, Class of 2001(02)

This month marks my husband's ten year mark in the Professional Fire Service.

CONGRATULATIONS HONEY!

Love,

Your Fire Wife

*Also posted at www.stopscreamingimdriving.com

Unplugging

2010-05-08T12:16:00.000-07:00

If your firefighter is anything like mine, he is constantly "ON."

Now, I don't mean to complain, because there is absolutely nothing like being married to a firefighter. They are loyal. They are kind. They are committed and they take their jobs both at home and the fire station very seriously. All good qualities to have in a husband, friend, father and firefighter.

But.

Sometimes I wish he'd just not answer his Nextel.

I'm not talking about his pager - which is supposed to inform him of a call that would need his immediate attention - a true emergency. I'm talking about the phone that rings non stop. The phone that even rings when he's at the driving range and conveniently forgets to attach it to his hip (probably the only time this happens, mind you). The phone I want to hurl into the lake.

Yes, that one.

I don't mind the occasional call for advice.

But not being able to locate laundry soap at the fire station is not my husbands emergency.

Neither is calling at 6am on a Sunday to ask him what his picks are for the NASCAR pool they have going on at the station.

My husband could just turn off the phone or let his voice mail pick up once in awhile, but what if he missed something truly important? What then?

Fact is, he needs to be available. Even if that means answering the phone during the middle of family dinner to tell someone where the remote control is or where the last shift hid the rocky road ice cream.

It just comes with the territory.

Sweat and Smoke: Tales From a Firefighter's Wife

2010-04-03T21:18:00.000-07:00

I know, I know, I am going to burst the bubbles and the fantasies of many a woman with this tale, but as they say, truth is better than fiction.

Some of you may think that firemen come home in their bunker gear (that's the technical term for the stuff they wear when putting out fires, you know, the pants with the suspenders that they wear in all those sexy firefighter calendars with nothing else underneath), but that just isn't the case. That sexy bunker gear is left at the fire station.

Left there all alone with nobody to love it.

Anyway, most firemen rarely bring any of their uniform pieces home (unless their wife has a fetish) and the families of firemen don't see them wearing their uniforms any place other than at work, or when their son's 1st-grade teacher asks them to come speak for career day.

Have I deflated any stereotypes yet?

They do bring home laundry. Once in a while, firemen have to spend time at their local fire training academy brightening the minds and bodies of hundreds of young, idealistic, hopeful future firefighters.

Since this community service does not take place at the fire station, with it's professional laundry service, they bring their work duds home. Home for their barely-functioning, likes to shimmy into the middle of the room during a good spin cycle, definitely NOT Electrolux washing machine.
Have I mentioned my love of all things Electrolux lately? No? Well then.

This morning, along with my usual fare of dirty baseball pants and pink t-shirts covered in syrup, I also found a pile of navy blue items (the standard color of all things firefighter) heaped in a bundle on top of my NOT Electrolux washing machine.

I began to sort through the pile, noting the obvious dampness of the navy blue clothing items.

With each movement, a pungent odor would waft upwards and infiltrate my nostrils.

Oh yes, nothing like the smell of smoke and sweat first thing in the morning.

It was then determined, upon further investigation, that these navy blue clothing items were, of course, turned inside-out. I would have to touch them more than I wanted to. There was no way around it.

After one washing, the suspect odor was not gone. Vinegar was added to the second washing.

Currently, the third washing is taking place in more HOT water than should be used (yikes! the environment!) in my dutiful, although NOT Electrolux washing machine. I'm crossing my fingers that the third time is the charm in this case.

These, my friends, are the joys of being married to a firefighter. It just keeps getting better every day.

2001-02 Fire Training Recruit Class (Hubby is 4th from left, on the top).

Good thing he is cute too, otherwise it would just be him and the dog.

*Originally published at Stop Screaming I'm Driving, 2008.

Climbing Stairs

2010-03-12T15:16:00.000-08:00

Thirteen years ago this month, I held my tiny, brand new, wrinkled little newborn son in the lobby of a massive skyscraper in downtown Seattle.

I think I may have had my first panic attack there, or at least the first feeling of utter motherly dread when we were driving down, down, down into the depths of the giant parking garage. I remember counting levels and wondering how we'd ever get out of this concrete jail if something horrible happened. Breathing the canned air on our way to the elevators it was all I could do to stop from running, my baby in tow, in order to get just one breath of fresh air...

Which must be pretty much the way my husband felt when he ran up 69 floors in full bunker gear to reach his goal.

Watching the members of our fire department get suited up, hydrated, say prayers and kiss their significant others goodbye was overwhelming, especially with our new baby. I teared up so many times I lost count. I was nervous for him, for them. I was proud of him, of them. And I paced nervously from the time he went up those escalators and out of my sight until the time I saw him, exhausted and spent, return back to our little staging area.

If you are in the fire service family, you know that events like The Scott Firefighter Stairclimb are yearly reminders of the loyalty, strength, endurance, pride and generosity of each firefighter who participates and his/her department. Behind those climbing men and women, stand several support people who also feel as passionately about the cause to raise funds for leukemia and lymphoma.

This year, my husband's good friend Tony and their Chief climbed. Chief and his daughter, who is a firefighter in Eastern Washington made it a father/daughter type challenge and I do believe they both came out on top of their game! What an inspiration.

I have the privilege of knowing (in blogland) a very talented local photographer who has covered the stairclimb. Not only do her photos capture every single emotion that is felt during this event, but she catches some unique behind-the-scenes shots as well which give surprising glimpses into each and every aspect of the climb. Check out her blog at: Sarah Alston Photography and you'll see exactly what I'm talking about.

Bacon Parmesan Roasted Red Potatoes

2010-02-11T16:25:00.000-08:00

Say that ten times fast.

I swear, this is not a food and/or cooking blog. I swear. If you're looking for one of those, try these out - Half-Assed Kitchen, written by my friend Angie, or Desperate for Dinner, written by my friend Donata.

Those are cooking blogs.

This is not.

But, food is love. Food is comfort. And food is necessary for a family. We can't survive without it. And as life suddenly got more complicated around here, I realized that I could do one of 2 things: eat take out for the rest of my life, OR become a better cook. I chose the later. Now, I'm not saying that I'm an awesome cook (I'm just the regular kind). But I am saying that I'm cooking more, eating out less, and being more efficient at the grocery store. And all this adds up to one important fact: it makes life easier.

With the help of a weekly meal plan (and these cute downloadable meal planning sheets from Amy at Living Locurto), I've successfully attacked the past 5 weeks of meals...with a vengeance. And a glass of wine, but that's another story.

Most of the recipes I've been making are old family standbys, with a few of our more current recipes thrown in for a dash of excitement. If I have trouble with a recipe, I turn to my friends, offline and on, for advice. Take the other day, I was grappling with that ancient Tater Tot Casserole (yes mom, I know this is considered the anti-Christ in your eyes) recipe and my friends were there to help. One facebook friend pointed me to a helpful website, and my best girlfriend talked me through it on the phone as I stood over a hot stove preparing the dish.

In the end, it was fabulous...white trash and all. Katie had seconds and wanted the leftovers for lunch the next day. Clearly a blue ribbon dinner in her book! But, my MIL ate the leftovers in the middle of the night, Katie was crushed, and now I'll have to make it again soon. Good thing I now know how...

But isn't this supposed to be about potatoes?

Yes.

This recipe is again, lifted from my mother (thanks mom). I'm one of those "that looks about right" kind of cooks when it comes to measuring - except for baking, I do measure when baking, unless it's chocolate chip cookies, then I just eyeball the ingredients (I could make those in my sleep). Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that the measurements for this recipe are not exactly exact. Get my drift?

Bacon Parmesan Roasted Red Potatoes

6-7 medium sized red potatoes, scrubbed and cut into 2" pieces

3 slices bacon, cooked and diced

1/2 cup parmesan cheese

1/2 cup - 3/4 cup ranch dressing

Rinse, scrub and slice the potatoes so they look like this:

Then, take that bacon,

And slice it up.

Place the bacon and the potatoes in a 9 x 13 pan, like this:

And then, add the cheese (mmmm, cheese - I won't tell if you sneak a bite):

Then comes the sin.

The awful, no good for you, horrible, artery clogging sin.

The ranch dressing:

Believe me when I tell you, this is well worth it, whatever kind you use - my mom likes the "lite" kind. But she doesn't have to shop at Costco for her 3 ranch loving kids. So, like I said, use your favorite. This just so happens to be ours. And it's what I have in the refrigerator. So.

Now, toss all that cheesy, bacony, ranchy goodness together with the potatoes and roast in a 375 degree oven for about 30-40 minutes. Or, until the potatoes are nice and soft on the inside, crispy on the outside.

If this were a real cooking/food blog, this would be the time to show you the delicious finished product.

But it isn't.

And the product isn't finished. It's in the refrigerator, covered in foil, waiting to go in the oven in a few hours. But let me tell you...it will be good. Probably so good that I'll forget to take a picture of it, as I'll be inhaling it at the speed of light.

But here's a picture of what else we're having, also not finished, I just thought you'd enjoy seeing how I tie my chicken legs together before roasting:

Bon Appetit!

*Cross posted at Stop Screaming I'm Driving!

At the Speed of Light

2010-02-06T12:21:00.000-08:00

What happened to January?

Oh - life. That's what.

Actually, most of January and so far into February has been spent caring for my mother-in-law. She is living with us now, temporarily, while we help figure out the best situation for her needs.

Sigh.

It's a lot of work.

And a lot more laundry.

And a lot more of everything...but just like everything else in life, we're handling it.

I think being married to the fire service has taught me to take one day, one incident, one hour at a time. I hope that because I'm used to this kind of upheaval, that I will be able to get through this with a little less bumps and bruises (metaphorically, of course) than I would otherwise. Who knows.

For now, we're working it out.

One day

One hour

One moment at a time.

Tonight is the annual party/dinner at the firestation and we'll let go of our worries for a little bit - although never quite getting them out of our minds. We'll toast to a new year with a great department, a great support system, and a great group of professional firefighters to work with. The wives will swap funny stories, babies will be kissed and cuddled and best of all, camaraderie will be plentiful.

I did find a funny picture from the beginning of my husband's career (the boys are so tiny!) that I'll post in a few days...stay tuned.

Happy 2010!

2010-01-05T18:04:00.001-08:00

Happy New Year from our Firehouse to Yours!

Christmas Eve at The Firehouse

2009-12-23T11:44:00.000-08:00

As all firefighter families know, even though your partner's schedule can at times seem like a dream, they don't always get major holidays off. Sigh. It comes with the territory.

We get used to it though.

When my husband was first hired, he shipped off to special training on my birthday. I remember him feeling so horrible and awful to leave me on "my day," but I couldn't understand why. "It's just another day honey," I said to him, "Your career is more important than a day on the calendar."

And it is.

A firefighters family learns to adjust their way of thinking when it comes to those boxes on the calendar. We stop looking at Saturdays and Sundays in terms of a weekend and instead, replace our previous thought process with a new one that is made up of shift cards and multi-colored squares labelled A, B, C and D shift. These become our new normal. Our new way to see things. Our new compass when it comes to the monthly calendar - and as soon as that happens, everything changes.

Sure, weekends don't exist anymore in the traditional sense, but they are replaced with large chunks of time mid-week and the opportunity to trade shifts with a fellow firefighter to take time off that would be impossible in another profession. It's a give and a take and like most things in life, you learn to compromise and make the best out of the time you are able to have together.

This year, my husband works on Christmas Eve - which may not seem like a big deal, but when you have family from this way and that wanting to spend time with you during the holidays, the loss of even one day can put a hitch in your get along. It can make scheduling the holiday festivities a bit more challenging.

But.

That's just the way it is.

Although we're surrounded by loving and supportive people who understand that it's just the nature of the job, it's still hard to please everyone. So instead of going to them this year on Christmas Eve, they are coming to us. We're baking a ham at the firestation and my husband is making his delicious potato au gratin dish to go with it. My mom is bringing dessert (the most important part of the night) and another wife is bringing her homemade potato rolls (ok, it might be a competition between these and the dessert). We are going to open a few gifts and hopefully not get interrupted by calls - but if we do, we're prepared, we're also bringing The Polar Express to watch on the ginormous TV at the firestation (is it just me, or do all firestations have ginormous TVs).

It might not be home, but it's the closest we're going to get on Christmas Eve and we'll be together...which is the most important thing of all.

Wishing you and yours a very Merry Christmas.

PS - Keep your tree watered.

Kick Ass Chicken En-a-la-das

2009-12-15T11:32:00.001-08:00

One of our favorite things to send to the firehouse!

The holidays are all about the food. Well, when isn't it all about the food when it comes to a hungry firefighter? What is your favorite meal to make for your firefighter or prepare at the fire station?

Because it's too cold to type without wearing fingerless gloves, here's a recipe sure to warm you.

This hails from my sister-in-law's mother's kitchen (who is NOT my uncle's brother's best friend's neighbors cousin) and the first time I had these I was in love. I know it may sound weird to say that you're in love with an enchilada but after you taste these, you'll understand. I could feel the delicious cheesy goodness right down to my toes (and I'm not one for cliches)!

My recipe card bears all traits of a great recipe as it is smudged, smeared and splattered with oil. The edges are tattered and I can barely read it, but the basic recipe never changes. I've tried other versions of the classic white chicken enchilada and found none that compare to the original. And on occasion, I have modified it using whatever shredded chicken I have on hand. Sometimes it's leftover crockpot salsa chicken, sometimes it's rotisserie chicken because I'm feeling lazy - as if crockpot chicken isn't lazy enough already. But whatever chicken it is, it's always good. My kids devour it with the zealousness of a pack of hungry wild dogs and there are never leftovers.

Simply, it rocks.

We call it chicken EN-A-LA-DAS (emphasis on the "la") because that is just how we roll around here, and it is best prepared while listening to your favorite tunes...whatever those may be. I think the last time I made these (which was just last week), I had a little World Party on my equally kick ass kitchen radio.

Kick Ass Chicken En-a-la-das
2 cups cooked, shredded chicken
1 small yellow onion, diced
8 - 10 flour tortillas (or corn if you like those better)
1 can mild diced green chilis (use 2 if you're bold)
1/4 cup butter (use cooking spray if you're so inclined but believe me, you'll taste the difference)
3 Tbsp flour
2 cups chicken broth (apprx)
2 cups shredded cheese*
1 cup sour cream

Cook the onion over medium heat in a little butter or canola oil until translucent. Transfer to a bowl and mix with the shredded chicken. Set aside.

In same pan, and no you don't have to wash it in between, melt the butter over med-high heat. Add the diced green chilis when the butter is melted and just begins to crackle. Cook for about 2 min, stirring constantly. Now, reduce the heat to medium and sprinkle the flour over the green chilis. This will make a paste. Cook and stir only until combined and there are no large visible lumps of flour. Then, add the chicken broth, stirring (I like to use a large plastic whisk) slowly until it is all blended, over medium heat. Continue stirring until all the chicken broth is absorbed and the mixture is smooth. It should be fairly thick but if it isn't, toss in a little more flour, crank up the heat and adjust it until you think it's thick enough.

I know, this recipe is soooooo Martha Stewart.

Finally, turn the heat off, but keep the pan on the burner, and gently fold in the sour cream. The sauce will be delicious, thick and creamy colored.

Now, you should have a 9 x 13 pan sprayed with cooking spray and ready to go. I forgot to mention that earlier but it's okay if you wait until the last minute - nothing is going to go wrong if you do this out of order!

Take a tortilla, hold it in your hand, and spread about 1/4 cup of the chicken/onion mixture in the tortilla. Sprinkle just a pinch (or a tablespoon in this case) of cheese on top of the chicken/onion mixture and roll the whole thing up. Place seam side down in the pan and repeat at least 7 more times, loading the pan up with en-a-la-das.

When the pan is full, find that wonderful sauce you just made - it should be sitting on the stove. Slowly pour the sauce over the en-a-la-das, spreading it out with a spatula if necessary to get all the edges coated in sauce. Place the entire pan in a preheated 350 degree oven and set a timer for 25 minutes.

Pour yourself a tall frosty glass full of your favorite Mexican beer (I like Pacifico with a lemon slice) and dance around your kitchen until the buzzer goes off. When that happens, get the rest of the cheese (should be about 1 cup unless you snuck some while you were dancing) and sprinkle it on top of the bubbling en-a-la-das. Put that whole cheesy goodness back in the oven and cook for an additional 5 minutes.

You can do some cool down stretches at this point.

Viola! The en-a-la-das are done. We like ours topped with some fresh chopped cilantro and tomato but you can do whatever you like. Avocado, green onions and even a nice corn salsa would also be yummy.

Enjoy!

*A note about the cheese, my favorite type to use is a blend of cheddar and monterey jack. But - you can use pepper jack, only cheddar or only monterey jack. Heck, you can probably use mozzarella if that's all you have on hand. Just make sure it's cheese, and that there is a lot of it.

*Cross posted at Stop Screaming I'm Driving.

Morning

2009-11-30T18:51:00.000-08:00

I don't always wake up when he leaves.

I try, don't get me wrong, but I'm just not a morning person. I curse the fact that I wasn't born with the 'ol "up and at 'em" morning genes like my firefighter grandfather was.

I remember visiting my grandparent's house on the weekends, where my grandparents had separate bedrooms. I always thought maybe they didn't like each other so much but as I grew older and slightly more observant, I knew that they liked each other plenty...but my grandfather was an early bird and my grandmother was a night owl. Hence, the separate rooms.

I suspect this was the case earlier in their marriage too, when my grandfather was an active firefighter, responding to calls and leaving for shifts at the earliest of early hours. Just like my husband does now.

Although I'm the lightest sleeper on the planet (just ask my kids, they'll tell you I wake at the sound of a Kleenex dropping) I tend to be in the deepest part of my sleep pattern when Brett is leaving for his shift...at around 6:15am. And even though I know that he kisses me and tells me he loves me, I panic when I can't remember or didn't wake up enough for it to even register in my conscious mind. And then I have to call him at the station and make sure he's okay, before getting on with my day.

This morning he came in bearing gifts though.

Of the 6 year old girl variety.

Our daughter had woken up when her Dad came into her room to kiss her goodbye. And I'm not talking the drowsy kind of waking up that is easy to fall back asleep from. I'm talking about eyes wide open, rearing to go, fully awake.

So he brought her into the bed with me.

Which caused me to wake up.

And since I was awake, I got to kiss him goodbye and actually REMEMBER!

Ah...what a concept.

How do you say goodbye to your firefighter when he leaves for shift? Do you get up and see him out the door, or are you like me, lazily slumbering in bed just waiting to be told "goodbye" to?

The Schedule, The Schedule, The Schedule

2009-11-11T16:51:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I think we, meaning my husband and I, become so used to his crazy fire fighter schedule that we forget the rest of the world doesn't operate the way we do.

Holidays? Well, those are great if you happen to not be scheduled on one!

Birthdays? Same thing goes. In fact our daughter just celebrated her 6th birthday at the fire station. What little girl doesn't like being driven around in a fire truck, eating take out Chinese and finding a Barbie Dream House in the closet at the fire station?

Weekends? What are those? It's always a nice change of pace when my husband isn't actually on shift for a weekend - but that hardly ever happens and if it does, we stand around and stare at each other like a couple of retired folk with no tee time.

Speaking of standing around and staring at one another, we tend to do a lot of that during the weekdays - especially when the kids are in school. Although I work from home part time and my husband teaches and seems to be constantly answering his Nextel from work, there is a lot of "down time" that normal, non fire fighting couples don't experience until they reach retirement age.

Of course, there are pros and cons to this arrangement.

Pros:

Extra set of hands to help with the kids and household chores...although my husband has never cleaned a bathroom at home or organized my linen closet.
Help in the kitchen. We all know that most fire fighters like to cook, and it's rare to find one who doesn't. I'm spoiled because he is an excellent cook, and his dishes aren't so spicy that they'll burn the pants off you - unless you are into that sort of thing!
Couple time. Married people with 9-5 jobs are always talking about "date night." We like the occasional date night too, but feel lucky that if we can't squeeze one in between our kids' activities and his schedule, we get a lot of time together while the kids are in school.
Someone else to throw the slobbery ball for the dog and, last but not least...
A designated lawn mower.

Cons:

Extra set of hands - don't pretend you don't know what I mean by this.
Too many chefs. When my husband is at work, I'm in charge. Although at times this can be stressful and leave me feeling like a single mom, I don't mind it and get into my own groove just fine. When he's home, my whole balance is thrown off as I am distracted by him and he is also trying to be helpful (which is great, but like I said "too many chefs"). Sometimes it just gets a little tense and we need to decide who is in charge!
Boredom. When he is working, my husband has a strict schedule and a tremendous amount of things that need to be done at the fire station. Here at home, it's a little different. Of course we try to maintain a nice routine - it helps everyone out - but we are in no way as regimented as the fire house is! Adjusting to a more relaxed home life after being on shift can take some time, even a few days. And we try our best to make it through these times with as much understanding for one another's "schedule" as possible. But believe me, it isn't always perfect.

We all know, as fire fighter wives, that the schedule is demanding, crazy and irritating at times. But it can also be a blessing.

And for all the times I've grumbled, "I wish you worked a normal job like other people," I would not have him trade places with a 9-5er for the world because I love what he does, I love how it makes him feel and I'm proud to be married to him. And at this rate, after 13 years of marriage and 13 years of enduring a fire fighter's schedule...we're in GREAT shape for retirement and all those days of staring endlessly at each other over the tops of our golf clubs.

How do you cope with your fire fighter's schedule?

Funeral Clothes

2009-11-03T09:53:00.000-08:00

Seeing my husband in his Class A's on his way to a funeral for a fellow firefighter is just one of those things that I wish I didn't have to experience.

You never get used to it.

Even though his department is small, and their last loss was not in the line of duty, you never get used to it.

No matter where they are, no matter who they are, they are brothers.

And this is just what firefighters do.

*Post Edit: He was not going to the funeral of one of his department's fire fighters. This funeral was for a fire fighter who lost a battle with cancer, from a neighboring department. It was summer, 2009 and like I mentioned, this is just something they do - show support - be there - show up. Just like any brother would.

Dear Fire Wife, 2

2009-10-31T13:13:00.001-07:00

Taken from the comments section of the original post - which can be found here.

Hi Carrie,

My name is Briana and I googled Firefighters Wife and your blog popped up. The reason I did that is because my boyfriend of 3+ years is considering a career in firefighting and I wanted to get a little info about what that might be like for me. Any advice/info would be much appreciated. Thanks so much.

Sincerely,
Briana

Dear Briana,

After being married to a fire fighter for over 13 years, the best advice I can give you is to BE FLEXIBLE! As you must already know, a fire fighter's schedule is a unique one, not a "regular" 9 - 5 job like everyone else. So, the family of a fire fighter needs to be understanding in regards to his/her work schedule. Which means, abandoning all pre-conceived notions of weekends and always having him/her home for holidays.

I know, sounds rough right?

But really it's not. I can't tell you how many times people have come up to me and said how lucky I was to have my husband home during the week. He gets to participate in school activities with the kids that not many other working parents can. Although he misses the occasional birthday and Halloween, he makes up for it by hosting amazing fire station visits for our children and their friends.

Who else can say that about their dad?

As a spouse, I've spent numerous evenings visiting him on shift at the fire station. Making meals or just hanging out in between calls is a way you can stay connected with your fire fighter during those long shifts.

And get to know the other fire fighter's wives and families too. Your best support when something happens is one another. And the "family" that is formed by having a loved one in the fire service cannot be compared to any other working environment. It is a special bond that will last a lifetime.

Best,
Carrie

You Know You're a Fire Fighter's Wife If...

2009-10-26T00:18:00.000-07:00

"The Real Firefighters of SC"

You Know You're a Firefighter's Wife If:

You know what IFSTA, IAFF, SCBA, WSFTA, and ARFF stand for.

Your Husband's wardrobe looks like this: non-descript bottoms paired with any navy blue shirt/sweatshirt with a fire department logo on it.

Your Husband's haircut is "nice and tight." So are his buns.

You've eaten more gas-producing foods in a 24 hour period than any sane woman should (unless she's a fire fighter).

You know the difference between a police siren and a fire siren.

Your kids think the fire station is "Daddy's house."

You've received more dalmation-themed collectibles than you thought humanly possible.

You know that all of your smoke detectors work.

Your Husband will not let you near the BBQ.

You can make 4 dozen cookies without a recipe in 1.5 hours flat and have them delivered asap.

You know that you always have a team of highly-trained ems professionals at the ready (you know, in case a baby falls down the stairs or something).

You know that it is faster and waaaay better to take the ambulance to the hospital (NEVER go it solo, and actually WAIT in the waiting room!).

Your single friends are always aksing "are there any single firemen at Hubby's work?"

Your children can make good use of vaccuum hoses and rubber gloves.

Everybody knows a fire fighter, and will asume that you know them too.

You find it hard to sleep when your Hubby is at work.

You get severly angry when people don't pull over for firetrucks and ambulances.

You've held more birthdays at the fire station than should be allowed.

You get to listen to stories about fires, mva's and in my case, sprinkler systems.

You've seen Backdraft 40 million times and Ladder 49 10 million (but who can get sick of staring at Joaquin Phoenix and John Travolta?)

You've had some of the best holiday meals at the fire station.

You've lost all sense of what a "weekend" really is due to your husband's crazy schedule.

Your husband gets to go on field trips & preschool once in a while.

All of the teachers want your husband to "demonstrate" his skills for the class (yeah, right she just wants to see him in his bunker gear).

You feel like the luckiest girl alive when he comes home off shift and sends your heart a-flutter.

Dear Fire Wife

2009-10-19T15:35:00.000-07:00

I am pleased to share the first letter in the "Dear Fire Wife" series. If you have a question, comment, or just want to share a story - please feel free to email me and I'll post your letter and my response (if applicable) here.

Hi,

My name is Stacy*, and I'm from "Somewhere in the United States*." I came across your blog one day while I was searching for websites for fire fighter girlfriends, fiances and/or wives, I read through one of the posts and was hooked.

My boyfriend is a full-time fire fighter for the city of *****, and I'd like to ask you a couple questions.

I'm new to the fire department world, sort of. I am a 911 dispatcher, and I am the daughter of a sheriffs deputy so I'm used to odd hours, missed holidays, cold dinners etc., but only as a daughter. As a partner, do you ever get used to it? How do you handle it? I have two young sons that he has taken in as his own, how to I explain to them when Dad has to go back to work, or if they hear something is wrong with a firefighter and we don't know who or what is the matter? How do I handle it if that happens?

Another issue that has been raised, is they just hired a female who is getting put on his crew, I know he loves me and it isn't the jealousy side so much that gets to me... It is would she be as strong as the guys in the department? Is she going to be able to help the love of my life if he needs it, or he going to have to rely on a 2nd wave of crew to come in and help? I know these aren't questions you would be able to answer really, I don't know if your husband has any females on his department or not, but in your opinion, do you think there is way to come over this fear short of waiting for it to happen and see how she does?

I understand if you are busy, it sounds like you have your hands full, I was just hoping to get another opinion on how to start getting used to being a firefighter's wife.

Thanks so much,

Stacy*

*names, locations changed for anonymity

Dear Stacy,

Thank you for your questions.

As far as "getting used to" the crazy schedule, missed holidays and family gatherings, I don't think that I so much as got used to it, as I accepted this as our way of life. My husband has been involved in the fire service for as long as we've been married, longer actually. Before he was hired full-time, nearly 9 years ago, he worked as a "part paid" as well as his full-time job as a general contractor. He was the President of the Firefighters Association on top of this, so you can imagine how often he was really, physically home with us.

During that time, our boys (who are 12 and 11 years old now) were very little, so I understand what you are going through. I had come from a family of firefighters, and so had my husband - so explaining that to our children was easy, it is in our blood. Living in a small town, where the firestation was just down the street also aided in the understanding that the boys got at an early age as to what and where daddy did his "fireman" work. Having him come to their preschools also benefited them and my husband was never shy about showing up and doing fire prevention education for their classes.

It's important, in my opinion, not to hide the seriousness of the job from young children, but not to glorify it either. Being a 911 dispatcher, I'm sure you understand this. Taking them to the firestation, bringing dinner or treats, keeping them in close contact while daddy is gone, reminding them that although he misses some birthdays, it is pretty cool to have a daddy who gets to be home on his days off when other dads are working. These are all small things that can help ease the distance when he is on shift. We still visit my husband at the firestation - even though the boys are older they still love to climb on the firetrucks and snoop around in the station. And the support he feels from us coming out there to spend time with him is priceless.

We stay involved in the family activities too. Even though our department is small (being at an airport) there are a lot of things that we can participate in as a family. This teaches the kids the importance of dad's work, as well as connects them to the children of other firefighters. They know that their "firefighter family" is always there for them, no matter what.

As far as the female co-worker is concerned, you probably don't need to worry. All firefighters have to pass rigorous physical agility testing in order to be hired. This test is getting more and more competitive for all, especially females, as the interest in the field of firefighting increases. I understand why you'd be worried, but I assure you that she has probably had to prove herself ten times over what her co-workers have had to, because she is a female. If your partner's safety with any of his co-workers is ever in question, he should report that to his immediate supervisor, as safety on the job is imperative - as if their job isn't risky enough just by definition!

It can be hard to get used to, especially because the fire service holds a unique and strong bond unlike any other working environment, but I'm sure you're going to be just fine, as will your family. The fact that you are already thinking of how you can support and understand your firefighter tells me that you're probably ahead of the game.

All in all, staying connected with your partner is probably the best thing you can do for you and your family when it comes to your new life in the fire service. Letting him decompress after a busy or especially tragic shift, letting him talk it out and listening are all things you can do to be there for him. In turn, it is important that you have support too, because sometimes the stress of being married to a firefighter can be hard on the support person. My family is understanding and flexible when it comes to Brett's work schedule. They are always there to help me and I don't know what we'd do without them. Because my grandfather was a Fire Chief, my dad understands...I'm pretty lucky.

I'm also good friends with the other wives and we know that we can count on one another whenever something happens. Thankfully, we've only been called upon to support each other for the births of babies - but we all know in the back of our minds, when we kiss our husbands goodbye before a shift, that he's going off to a dangerous job. So we cherish each moment, every day, and try to stay positive.

Best of luck to you! You're going to be a great "Fire Wife."

Sincerely,
Carrie

Raising a Firefighter

2009-10-17T13:15:00.001-07:00

Some things hit so close to home you can feel them, taste them, see how they would affect your life reflected in the stories you read about others who have gone through it. Remembering September 11, 2001, is like that for me. If only for a moment, I can see my husband running up stairs with other firefighters while everyone else is running down. I can hear the confusion in the voices of the dispatchers, ems personnel, officials and journalists as they realize that before their very eyes, death has taken more souls in an instant than they ever thought possible. I can feel the emptiness left after a phone call to the widow of a firefighter leaves her to gaze at her fatherless children and wonder how she is ever going to tell them that Daddy isn't coming home after his shift today, ever.

I am in awe of the thousands of tributes and projects dedicated to honoring and remembering the heroes and victims of the World Trade Center, The Pentagon and Flight 93, projects like dc's 2,996, which has already reached it's goal of having one blogger write a tribute for each of the victims lost in our nation's worst terrorist attack. The project is already working on assigning a 2nd wave of bloggers, worldwide, to write tributes. I invite you to visit this site to read amazing stories of the people who were lost on that day, to put faces and real lives to the names, to remind yourself that we are all in this boat together, and without one another, we are simply alone.

I longed to be able to find the strength to participate in the 2,996 project, but it is just too hard for me. Perhaps because my husband is a firefighter, at an airport. Perhaps because ever since he could say the word "firetruck" my oldest son has been obsessed with all things firefighter.

He watches every move his father makes, taking mental notes for the pretend inferno he will conquer as soon as he gets home and dons his father's old bunker gear and helmet, in the hot summer sun.

He has been a firefighter for Halloween 4 times! And shows no sign of wanting to be anything but.

He wants to save all his money to buy child-size bunker gear (since Daddy's is a bit big and cumbersome). It is $300.00, but he's on a mission. I have no idea why they even make bunker gear to fit a 9-year-old.

His brother and sister delightfully oblige his firefighter escapades with the willingness of little clones, obeying his every order just as if he were their Chief. One is the siren, one is the trapped person in the building, McRae saves the day.

Perhaps because we have a family history rich in Firefighters, it is no surprise that my son wants to follow in these footsteps, those of my grandfather, Brett's grandfather, Brett's father and my uncle. Perhaps his love of the profession will wane over the years and he will forget the days he spent drilling Daddy on how smoke turns into fire, or how you vent a roof. Perhaps he will chose a "safer" line of work. Somehow, I think not. It is undeniable right now, and for now, that's okay.

It is okay because although there are tremendous risks associated with being a firefighter, there are unimaginable rewards.

Running into a burning building to save a life when everyone else is running out is just one of them, and I will never forget.

In my life, it isn't possible to forget what happened on September 11, 2001, as I look into my children's eyes when they ask me "Will a plane ever crash at Daddy's work?". I wish that I could tell them "no," but I can't.

*Originally posted on Stop Screaming I'm Driving! - September, 2006

The View From My Frontline

2009-10-17T12:27:00.001-07:00

The tell-tale sound of the fire engine roars down the otherwise quiet street below our neighborhood, on its way somewhere.

I don't think a thing about it.

A few minutes later, just when the first siren is fading, another blast from another engine. And another, followed by more sirens from what I've come to know by sound, are smaller command vehicles and police cars.

"There's something wrong," I think.

More sirens pass. It takes a long time for their sounds not to be heard so I know that they are going far.

A normal person probably wouldn't give these noises a second thought. A normal person would carry on with their day, corralling kids, folding laundry, preparing lunch.

But the wife of a firefighter doesn't do this.

Brett doesn't work for our local district, although he did for some time before he was hired as a full-time firefighter at the airport. But these men and women are still, as all who are involved with the fire service know, family to us.

I called him at work to see if he could find out what was wrong.

The "Oh" of his response was telling enough.

Head-on MVA, 3 or more vehicles involved, dumptruck on fire, and on it's side, one red (death), immediate response requested, caller states that this is "really, really bad."

For a split second, I am grateful that my husband is tucked into his airport firestation busy doing nothing more dangerous than waxing the bay floors. Although mayhem can come anytime.

Then he says the names of the firefighters responding to the call, all people we know. One of them, the son of a firefighter who used to work with Brett. I still think of him as a teenager and cannot imagine the storm he is about to witness on the highway.

Then it starts snowing, and I think, "Great, now they (the responders) have to put out the fire in the snow, and help the injured in the snow, and direct traffic in the snow, and see what nobody wants to see in the snow."

Being married to a firefighter is like this, it just is. I can't hear a siren without thinking about where it's going. I can't see an image of a firefighter without thinking of my husband. I can't help but worry every time he leaves for shift that something bad will happen.

All I can do is hope that he, and others, make it through whatever disaster they bear witness to without many scars, inside or out.

The Fireman's Son

2009-10-17T09:18:00.000-07:00

I was raised in a small town and my kids are being raised in that same small town.

One of the benefits to being raised in a small town is that you attend school with the same group of kids from kindergarten until you graduate high school and move out into the great big world.

This could be good or bad, depending on your social standing or if you were the kid who picked his nose constantly in the 2nd grade and still had that reputation as a high school senior.

I don't remember what year it happened, but there was a fire at the home of one of my classmates. Nobody was hurt, physically, and the home was rebuilt and life resumed it's lazy pace in our small town. But of course, the fire story never really was extinguished because the boy's father was . . . a fireman.

There is nothing worse than a fireman's house catching on fire - a fire started by a coffee pot that was left on, by the fireman. Imagine the humiliation when the fire engine, aid units and tankers showed up to put out the blazing fire at the home of one of their own. Imagine the joking that followed at the firestation, the teasing, the razzing.

If you can't imagine this scenario, just watch a few episodes of "Rescue Me," and you'll understand.

My friend was a funny guy, he was often the class clown and always made others smile. Besides being a good student, he was popular and an athlete, so the "fire" jokes didn't scar him for life, but nobody ever forgot about it. Ever.

When I came home last night and the smoke alarms were sounding, how could this happen, I was only gone for 5 minutes? I went right inside the house. An orangish glow was coming from the bathroom and my husband (THE FIREMAN) was upstairs telling the kids, "It's nothing, probably just a match mommy lit," as he was walking downstairs to investigate.

When I looked in the bathroom and saw the backpack on fire, the flames almost to the ceiling, the smoke, I grabbed the flaming towel hanging from the wall and threw it on the flames. I pushed hard on it and batted until there was no more orange, only black - everywhere.

Standing behind me, my husband reached around to grab the scoarching backpack and bring it outside - burning his hand on the melted material in the process.

I took whatever was left and followed.

We looked at each other.

We looked at our kids.

We breathed.

We looked at our bathroom.

We are so lucky.

The damage done by our little fire took a while to clean up. Soot does not want to come off of white walls easily and I suspect a painting project will be in my near future. We ran fans for hours and opened windows and joked about "lighting a candle" to get rid of the smell. We discussed the lesson learned with our kids, who remained remarkably calm through the whole ordeal.

Do not throw backpacks on top of burning candles, was one lesson.

Do not leave candles burning when fireman husband (who was tired from getting a cortizone shot in his lower back that very morning) is alone with children, was another.

Wyatt's backpack was ruined, along with his homework folder, coat and some other things that were inside. Lucky for him, he got the actual homework out before he threw his pack on the candle. But still, he was anxious to get to school and share the story with his teacher and friends.

Should make for interesting bus stop conversation don't you think?

"Hey Wyatt, remember that time you almost caught your family's bathroom on fire?"

"Heh, Heh, yeah - and your Dad is a FIREMAN!"

Fits of laughter follow and Wyatt saying, "Oh, gimmee a break - it was just a little fire and besides, my Mom put it out."

The bathroom

The backpack