Mom and power

So, word got out in a few ways about my derby antics to my loves-me-bunches-but-worries-a-lot Mom, who I hadn't told I was trying out, and who's, shall we say, less than pleased that I've signed up for a full contact sport with a punk rock bent that requires things like pads and helmets and mouth guards.
The blow is cushioned pretty humorously by my Dad, who's just overjoyed that I'm doing anything vaguely sports-like; my grandmother, who's tickled pink, tells me how much she used to rollerskate, says she used to go watch the old derby with my grandpa all the time (and how many crushes she had on the young men who played); and my aunts, who just seemed amused and possibly glad it wasn't one of their daughters.
Poor Mom. Between the hair, the tattoo, the motorcycle, the uncomfortable questions about organized religion, atypical high school career, and other various and sundry- I don't think I'm quite what she had in mind. Good thing we love each other, anyway.

In other news, we got a notice that we're being inspected by the fire department to make sure we're not using extension cords as permanent wiring.
Uh. Well, when the closest outlet to the most convenient place to plug in the computer is, oh, on the 13' ceiling in the kitchen, yeah, we make hearty use of extension cords. So, shit. Either we need to do some major rethinking of our living space, need to find surge protectors with 30' cords, or unplug everything and make like that pile of electronic equipment in the corner is there for decoration. Bleh.

...Anyone have any suggestions? The longest I've found online is 15'...