Burning Down the House

 

Yesterday morning around 9:15 I'm reading 'Goodnight Moon' to my youngest daughter for about the fifteenth time.  I glance up to see my other daughter, now almost three and diagnosed with moderate autism, working with her therapist.  She always brings a smile to my face, but the man walking in the backyard quickly changes that expression.

I waste no time dashing across the house and out the back door where I find no less than SEVEN men in uniform pacing my backyard.  No it's not a birthday prank of strippers, though that might've been less embarrassing.  Apparently the table in my backyard, now little more than puddles of shattered glass, had been on fire.  The terrifying thing was - aside from the sirens blaring down my street, I never heard a thing.

Apparently some embers from a poorly extinguished cigar had been caught by the wind, blown into some gardening stuff that had been sitting on the table, and ignited the bad boy.  All other objects on the table - extension cords, a pair of clippers, and a grocery list - were unscathed.  Stupid tempered glass.

The amusing thing about the situation (I can laugh now that it's over and done with and none of my kids were hurt in the process) is that it took SIX fire fighters and the fire chief to extinguish the tiny fire on my table (called in by a neighbor)  Afterwords we sat around and discussed gardening techniques and my dog - a rat terrier - for the next ten minutes.  Oh the joys of suburban boredom. ;)

My second week of being a stay-at-home dad after being forced to resign defending gay marriage in a classroom and I'm realizing that this may be the most dangerous job in the world.

Ironically enough, working part-time in the evenings and NOT paying daycare has our family bringing in the same income.  Who knew!