Sure, firemen are generally cute, smart, and get those cool shiny red trucks, but I'd still prefer they not need to come to my house.
There are days where I think if I have survived, and so have the kids, it was a good day. This was one of those days.
I was already exhausted from gardening, and pulling up trees that are growing up from beneath my brick driveway. Oh, yes, I said beneath. It turns out, trees put down roots for about a mile and a half before sticking their heads out of the soil. Sometimes the best you can do is cut the head off the beast and hope it doesn't grow back. I'm starting to hate trees. That makes me a very bad hippie.
I'm starting to think that instead of a green garden, I want a rock garden. Yep, bad, bad, hippie.
So, I was watching the kids run around outside with the neighbor kids while Reagan (12) and I worked on fixing up the bikes that our friends gave us, when my next door neighbor points out that there is horrible black smoke billowing out of our tool shed. Inside, there were Styrofoam pieces on fire. The floor of my tool shed was burning. It turns out the neighbor kids had a fake cigarette (do I lose the worst-mom-ever prize to the other mom who was giving her kids fake cigarettes?) and thought it would be more authentic if they lit it. Well, where do kids go to set things on fire where no one will see? My tool shed, that's where! And here I thought it was just a fun little clubhouse type structure for them. When the fake cig caught fire, they dropped it, where it set the Styrofoam on fire.
Then they told my girls that the fire should be a secret. Yeah, because fires are a great secret.
While it's not a good idea for any of the neighborhood children play with fire, if they're going to do so, couldn't they at least do it at their house instead of mine?
Some days I'm so grateful for friends who make brownies. So, so, so grateful.