On the eighth day...

On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me eight whiffs o'gas, seven 'ssemblies a-swayin', six parties waiting, fiiiiiive rubber bouggies, four winds a'whipping, three trips to church, two whiny kids and a house outside the city.

I know, I know, yes, you would think gas in that sense, but I mean, for real, gas as in natural gas. I came home from shopping tonight and I swore that I smelled natural gas when I opened the front door at 9 pm. But, I had cooked a lot today on my gas range and Chris had cleaned the kitchen including the range...so first whiff was dismissed. Then I walked into the kitchen next to the range and thought hmmmm, I smell gas, "Chris, do you smell gas?" This went on, really, about eight times, when at 11 o'clock, my panic has risen to an all-new level and I made Chris go sniff one more time, then we HAD to call the gas company. So, the very nice gas man came out by 11:30ish to find a very tiny gas leak at the connection in the kitchen to the range. Finally, mommy would sleep well. The very nice and funny gas man left by midnight and thus, began the eighth day of Christmas, gratefully, without a bang. ;) Sorry, I couldn't resist that one.

So, I'm thankful for the very nice gas man from the Atlanta Gas Light Company that has for the second time since we've lived in Georgia set my mind at ease...and for a husband willing to keep walking to the kitchen to smell for gas and for two great kids that were oblivious to my paranoia. Ahh, good night's sleep ahead..."Sleep in Heavenly Peace"