The Problem With Fire

Like most bloggers, I’ve got a short attention span. It’s who I am, and I’ve stopped trying to fight it. Seldom is there an issue with my inability to pay attention, but when there is an issue. Well, it’s a big issue.

Fire is a problem.

Yesterday I started a fire in the fireplace. It’s been 37-40 degrees here in the mornings, and I wanted a cozy fire. But then I forgot about my magazine. So I ended up with this:

Fire in the fireplace

Yes, I realize that it takes a special woman to get the hearth to burn. I’ll own that, but really the kids? Rats, both of them. They sat at the dinner table with my husband regaling him with stories of plants I’d set on fire, and the reminding him of the time that I’d set the grill on fire. Apparently, I’d neglected to mention to him that I’d set the ficus ablaze, that the fire department had come, and that I’d maybe bribed the kids with ice cream.

Please do not ask me how. Just know that it’s been years since I’ve been allowed to turn on the grill, I have a relationship with the fire department that neither of us enjoy and that my husband still doesn’t really understand just how bad the burning bush in the yard was. Don’t tell him, we’ll keep it our secret.

Last night I was at another party and imagine my surprise this morning when I saw this over the hearth.

fire happy face

I’d punish those two little stinkers if they weren’t so entertaining.

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