Firefighter Station Secrets

Biceps has an interesting schedule as a firefighter. He is at the station a full 24 hours before coming home.

This 24 hour time period allows for a lot of shenanigans to take place while he’s gone.

For example, I may or may not be guilty of buying lunch out while running errands. Biceps would rather starve or eat a protein bar than buy something from a restaurant. I would rather eat.

This would not fly with a firefighter. Sinks are to be empty; dishes are to be washed, dried and put away.

I call this the “mysterious soaking ritual” that is a necessity when one has made muffins on a whim and is pregnant and tired.

The same goes for our thermal mugs. They will be washed-eventually. Probably right before I leave the house in the morning.

And seriously, what’s the point of making a bed? We all know I’m going to try and nap in it later on.

This button fell off while I was grocery shopping today. I ran after it as it skidaddled around the produce area. It now sits on the counter waiting to be re-attached. I keep thinking about eating a banana muffin instead, though.

But, I seem to be in good company as far as shenanigans go. These two don’t judge and don’t seem to notice my lack of motivation. In fact, they encourage me to nap-so that they can nap with me. And they remind me that a rested pregnant lady is a happy pregnant lady.

I call this a win-win for all parties involved.

The second most important thing to a Fire Station

Biceps has begun his “real life” as a firefighter, right here in our hometown. Before the Academy, he was employed as a firefighter by another city, driving back and forth for almost two hours. But, now he’s here and just a few miles down the road. Boo yeah.

It may be a bit of a boys’ club, but they don’t ever turn away cookies, cakes or ice cream.

Trust me.

I’ve learned something by visiting these men a few times. Sure, they have to fight fires, kick in doors, and chainsaw through roofs in order to save homes and lives. Yes, they arrive on scene to DOA’s, horrible car accidents, child abuse situations and people stuck in cherry pickers.

Because of this, they look like superheroes to me-taking care of business when I would be crumpled to the ground in an emotional heap-wreck. (Yes, that’s a word.)

But underneath all the bunker gear, the breathing apparatus and the helmet, they’re still just men.

Men who love their families, their hobbies and their food.

The first time I was invited to the station, I was full-blown nervous. I wore a tank top so that my sweaty pits could breathe. I wore heels so that I would look like I took this invitation seriously. And, I made a mustache cake. I knew if I totally bombed, at least I would have a dessert to make up for it.

I arrived on scene to six firefighting men hovering over a commercial grade stove, taking their jobs of cooking very seriously. A ham was being carved, a skillet full of green beans was being stirred, stuffing was warming in the oven and the mashed potatoes were still steaming.

Whatever I was worried about was for nought. Dinner with five strangers and Biceps couldn’t haven’t been more perfect-the food was amazing and the conversation happened easily. And bonus-I didn’t say one stupid thing. However, my pits did sweat-it was stinkin’ hot in that kitchen. It’s like these guys are around fire all day long, or something.

During the meal, I soon realized how seriously these men took their cooking. “There would be no taco salad or sloppy joe’s made here,” they said. Besides saving lives, cooking was the most important thing they did on shift.

And then, Biceps was asked to make dinner. You must understand that although helpful in the kitchen, Biceps doesn’t really cook.

He was full-blown nervous. We went over a proposed menu numerous times, what times to start each item, how to tell when it’s done and all the little things us cooks forget we do.

“Oh yeah, of course you add olive oil. That kind of goes without saying.” Mr. Details (Biceps) disagreed.

He settled on mesquite chicken, broccoli and mashed potatoes. Total success, of course. And then, he was asked to make dinner again-this time sushi. Another total success.

He’s becoming a regular Julia Child-who happens to wear a helmet from time to time and run into burning buildings to pull out kitty cats and babies. How hot is that?

I guess a girl can have it all.

The Aftermath, The Mustaches & The Firefighter

Ah…the dust has settled. Everyone has gone home and the house is empty (save for two little naughty cats). But all the signs of a good party are visible.

Blueberries are smashed into my rug, mustaches are attached to every surface in our house, and our backyard still looks like a daycare center.

And, I arm wrestled a man and won.

True to Bicep’s style, he didn’t want to make his graduation into a “big deal”.

But, if you’re going to at least make it “a deal“, why not a “big deal”?

After all, Biceps has worked his bunz off for the last five months to not only graduate, but graduate number 1 in his class-both in academics and physical fitness. And-he was the “old guy” in the group. What a stud.

(Sorry, but a lady’s got to brag on her man every once in awhile.)

With the help of friends and family, we made it a “big deal”. There was a lot of food…

…and a lot of mustaches involved.

I mean a lot of mustaches.

Mustaches have been found on my mirrors, milk cartons and inside kitchen cabinets.

Our friends have a bizarre sense of humor.

And what’s a party without a few games to entertain the young (and the young at heart)? For several days, I sawed, sanded, sewed and painted three outdoor games-with firefighting themes, of course.

I think I might have had more fun creating the games than anyone had playing them. I giggled as I sewed up the dummy for the “Dummy Drag” and laughed outright as I hung a plywood cat up in a tree for the “Ladder Climb”.

I’m sure my neighbors think I’m bizarre, too.

Bicep’s parents hand-made dozens of mustaches to hang from the ceiling, along with this city scene-complete with tiny mustaches climbing a ladder.

I’m pretty sure making it a “big deal” was the way to go.

Congratulations, Biceps. I’m so proud of you.

Mustaches, Graduations and Parties

For the past five months, Biceps and I have been living under a rock–and today it’s over. It’s about time we get out and see some sunlight. Our vitamin D is precariously low.

Biceps has been busy putting out fires, studying every spare minute, climbing tall ladders, coming home drenched in sweat and water, while I did all the things a house needs doing.

And today, he graduates from the Tulsa Fire Academy.

(This is the picture we used for his graduation party invitation. Pretty, isn’t it?)
Biceps goes from a “cadet” to a full-fledged “firefighter” with all the pomp and circumstance a fire department can muster up.

Lots of mustaches will be seen and worn today.

(That’s Biceps second in the hose line. He’s cute even in bunker gear….)
After the graduation, we’ve invited our family and friends over to celebrate with us. Of course, I got crazy with the “party” concept.

Mom and I have been cleaning, cooking, creating party games, painting, cutting out mustaches and flames…and then flopping into bed every night.

I will admit to passing out at 8pm on Wednesday night. It’s true. This reformed rock musician wife, whose evenings used to begin at midnight, called it quits before my Grandma would.

Lame.

(Bicep’s is in this shot…somewhere…I think…)
But, all the plotting, planning and work has been totally worth it. Biceps is graduating and it’s time to celebrate-with mustaches, lots of mustaches, of course.

Watch out world. Firefighter Biceps is here.