playing with fire

Some fantastic mothers and I have decided to do some experimenting with our inquisitive children around science and the periodic table. It was Sadie's idea and then my idea and now a group of five families and all of our collective ideas. 

Sounds like a good idea, right?

So why am I driving home tonight questioning everything from the scientific method to the dire state of the world to my inability to create enough of something (not sure what) with my children.

Because that is the way my crazy brain works.

So I chatted with my mom. She is, after all, the best mom in my life anyhow and we had a nice cry and then a few laughs and then that was that.

I drove Sadie to the gym for swim team. She didn't really want to go and I told her she didn't have to, in fact we could take a break for a while.

She wanted to go and when she was done was happy for it.

I dragged my butt up to the treadmill who is normally a good friend of mine but today failed me miserably. It's ok, I won't take it personally, another day perhaps.

I went downstairs instead and proceeded to call Ashley and have a good long talk. 

I love Ashley.

Someday I will write a nice long blog entry just devoted to Ashley, my biggest fan, my greatest friend.

On the ride home Sadie was happy, content, talking to me about the time she had seen something on TV where they blew different things up and she wondered how that worked.

I did too.

Sorry, I don't have that answer for you. Ask me anything about literature, maybe drug addiction, child abuse or writing, I am your " go to " girl.

Don't ask me those science questions or you lose me in lack of knowledge and lack of interest. Yawn.

My mother had made stew and we ate it up with glee, all six of us, Nora, Jonah, Grampa John, Grammy, Sadie and me and then just like that there it was, the big EXPLOSION we had been hoping for right in the oven. Huge gusts of flame enveloped the oven and as I ran to get the phone John shut the oven and the fire went out, unsupported by oxygen any longer.

And then we talked about it.

Why did it happen (something about the sugar and juices on the bottom of the oven from pumpkin bread) ? 

Will it happen again? 

Why didn't the fire dept come in our town even though I had called 911 and even though I spoke with someone what if I had been lying? 

What if I needed help? 

Why do they call firemen firemen anyhow? 

Aren't there fire girls too?

Do they get paid as much?

When did they start becoming firefighters?

If I say fireman instead of firefighter will they put me in jail?

How old do you have to be to go to jail?

And on and on it went.

Thank you fire in my kitchen, inquisitive children, caring mother, good friend and an unburnt kitchen.