Alarming. Truly.

Monday, 5:45 p.m.:
Come home from work with the bug to discover our home security system is going off, beeping loudly and rapidly rather than making any type of siren noise. (We haven't used it since we bought the house in 2005 and thus I had no idea how to operate it, nor where to find an instruction manual or any such useful information.) After a long workday and later-than-usual commute due to poor weather, this is the penultimate straw. I close the door to the garage and stand outside with the bug. A few deep breaths later, I head back inside to try to figure it out. The bug is alarmed by the noise and confused by my actions, and requests "Animaniacs" over and over to calm our insecurities with the panacea of cartoons. I deny her in tones that are a bit too sharp, and her indignant tantrum adds to the cacophony.

5:51 p.m.:
I suddenly realize my advanced degrees have been rendered useless in the face of the relentless beeping and howling. This gives me new resolve. I can find a brand name. I can find a manual. I have skills. I will prevail against the machine and perhaps even the child. The panel is blinking "FC"--"fire company"? "flashing code"? "flailing child"? "Frustration complete"? I have no clue. All might apply.

5:57 p.m.:
Eventually manage to make the beeping stop by the method of forcefully pushing all the buttons on the keypad in combination with the "OFF" button on the control panel repeatedly until the beeping subsides. No idea if this is a lasting solution but it will do. My attention is quickly diverted to the usual after-work activities of housework, making dinner, moving laundry through its cycles, and bug bedtime.

7:36 p.m.:
The bug misses Daddy, who is on a conference trip. She wants him to tuck her in. I will not do. I cannot make him materialize. I am loudly reminded that I am an insufficient bedtime companion in no uncertain terms: "No Mommy tuck! No Mommy kisses! Want Daddy! Daaaaaaddddddyyyyyyy!"

8:21 p.m.
Bouts of sobbing eventually subside to sniffles and at last to sleepy steady breathing. Reticent bug finally bedded for the night, circa forty-five minutes after usual bedtime.

8:30 p.m.:
Alarm goes off, again. Loudly. Wakes the bug, who continues panicked moaning for an interminable length of time even after I pick her up and she attaches like a leech with her arms around my neck and legs around my hips. I once again pummel the control panel into submission. After a web search on the cryptic word "Ademco"--the only text on the control panel--I find an old users' forum that eventually yields pictures that look like my model, and a few instructions. This gives me hope. Thank you, God! Thank you, Google! I then begin to search the house for the "main beige metal box" containing the inner workings of the security system.

8:47 p.m. Find the central alarm box in the basement closet, tucked behind plumbing. The box is screwed shut. The still-clinging bug makes it difficult to locate and utilize a screwdriver but eventually we work as a team and get it open. (Yes, I bribed her with Chex Mix to get her to sit on the floor and eat while holding my leg instead. That is called "teamwork," for my childless readers.)

When opened, the box reveals many wires, and the system manual, huzzah! A quick flip-through yields the insight that the flashing code on the control panel means the backup battery was low. (Ironically, "FC" stands for "Failure to Communicate." Yup. Perhaps you can see why the code was less than an immediate revelation.) I am feeling triumphant re: discovery of box and manual, until the bug lets go of my leg and looks up at me and says, "Daddy fix it?" Thanks, kid. I know your mama appears to have relatively few useful skills in this type of situation. I needed your reminder at this particular moment.

Gave up on immediate alarm-system problem-solving and returned to bedding the bug. Achieved said bedding after much comforting circa 9:30 p.m.

10:30 p.m.: The manual also contains the reprogramming codes in case we ever do decide to activate the system. Still, several missing pages make it rather hard to draw useful conclusions. The hour of study (and eventual discovery of a complete manual, online, huzzah!) reveals there is no permanent "OFF" switch or reprogramming option because the alarm system is wired into the house electrical system. If I turn it off, I also turn off all our fire alarms (not good). We must have had a power outage during the day which caused it to go to "backup" mode and use up the backup battery. Which is also wired into the system, some sort of 12-volt rechargeable battery with multiple wires sticking out. Sigh. By the time I figure all this out, all retail stores have closed so I cannot simply purchase a replacement battery. At least I know how to make the beeping stop for some time period if it starts again.

4:30 a.m.: Beeping starts again. Strongly consider the scissors method of permanent disconnection, fire alarms be damned. Decide to avoid electrocution, since as a temporary single parent I had visions of the bug sitting by my dead body with a box of Teddy Grahams until my spouse's eventual return. But at least she wouldn't have to listen to the beeping.

Blearily realize the alarm will go off every eight hours until I get the battery replaced. Go downstairs, stab at the buttons, console miserably awake daughter, fall back asleep together circa 5 a.m. for the last hour before morning officially begins.

5:45 p.m., Tuesday: Return home refreshed (okay, that's a lie) and resolved. Unwire the 12-volt battery from the system. Call Home Depot and Lowe's to find I will have to special-order a replacement battery from a home-security company. Call a friend to review the wires I plan to disconnect to shut the system off since I can't buy a new backup battery. He comes over to validate my choices and reassure me that I won't screw up the house's wiring system and cause a fire that will then not be detected because I just disconnected the fire detectors. (Thank you, Niall.) Call my parents to reassure them that the bug and myself have not been kidnapped by terrorists who set off our alarm system but we did not heed the call...and that, as the bug says, "We're okay. We're all okay. No beeping. Mommy made it stop." I'm really unjustly proud of that last sentence, and I didn't even coach her.