Things that Go Bump

You'd have thought that the move from our little 8th floor apartment on the corner of 85th Street and Broadway:

to suburbia:





would make for a more peaceful night sleep. Surprisingly, thus far we've found that NOT to be the case.

EXHIBIT A: 

It's 2:25 a.m. I hear a bizarre noise coming from the kitchen. The next few minutes go something like this: "Josh, wake up. I don't think it's a big deal...but, it sounds like there is a giant fish flopping around on the kitchen floor." Half asleep and dumbfounded at what this may be, I seriously entertain the thought of a 10 lb bass (if those even exist) flopping back and forth on the floor of the kitchen. Josh gets up to make his now common middle-of-the-night pilgrimage down the hall. While he's gone, I start to send Van a message, since, in my partial slumber, it seemed important to have a live record of the "giant fish." Before I could press send, Josh was next to our bed, looking over me, silently. He then breaks out in uncontrollable laughter as he reveals that the "giant fish" is actually this:

(Actor portraying real life bird)

Apparently the sound of a giant fish flapping on a kitchen floor makes the identical sound of a poor little  bird trying to escape from a kitchen.

                                                                                                                                                          
EXHIBIT B:
                                                                                                                                                                      
Again, 2 something am. We hear what sounds like Mike Tyson practicing on his punching bag in the middle of our bedroom. I am scared stiff. When the light goes on, the culprit shows himself, crammed in between the blades of our bedroom ceiling fan:

It was Barney, in helium form.

                                                                                                                                                                     
I'm happy to report that our little feathered friend survived his kitchen entrapment. Inflated Barney, on the other hand, was not so lucky.

The moral of the story: take heed if there are any helium balloons floating near your ceiling fans, and if you haven't done so already, close your chimney flap this spring! Here's hoping for more restful nights in suburbia.