Putting out a fire of my own

Our homeschool group met at a local fire station for a field trip yesterday. I registered for this trip a good three months ago and had to sign the littles up for a 9 o'clock tour and my oldest for the 10 o'clock tour. I received an email from the coordinator, asking me if I could just bring all my kids to the later tour to help balance out the registration numbers. Sure, no prob!

So I showed up yesterday at 10 am and the "sign" came. You know, the "It's not going to be smooth sailing," kind of sign. The coordinator walked up to me, peering over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses, and inquired, "Did you have some of your children signed up for the earlier tour?"

She thinks I'm late. Isn't that special?

"Why, yes. I did. But I was asked to show up with all my chitlins at the TEN o'clock tour." (Hmfff!)

To my chitlins, "Fall in!"

And off we went. Now first of all, you'd have to know my Reece to understand how this was bound to go for me. He talks incessantly. He doesn't always remember to be socially appropriate when desiring to speak and it's something we have to work on constantly. And besides, he is a highly inquisitive child and, well, he just has LOTS to say. ;) And so he began...

"What's down that hall?"
"What's that for?"
"Where do you go to the bathroom?"
"What's this hole on the fender for?"
"Why are your shoes laying by the fire truck?"
"What's that stair climber for?"
"OH MY, MOMMY! LOOK AT HOW BIG THESE WEIGHTS ARE!!!"
Me, to Reece, "Shhhh! Listen to the man quietly please."
Reece, glossing over my words and turning to the man, "Who uses those things?"

It went on,...and on,....and ON!!!!!

That is, until a live call came in. The sounding alarms nearly scared Brandon clean out of his diaper. I tried to calm him down as I checked my own pulse for cardiac arrythmia (Sheesh!) Meanwhile, Reece is spinning with curiosity.

"What's that? What's that? Do you hear that, Momma? (as if) Hey, why are they,....WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Never mind that they TOLD us where they were going. As usual, Reece glossed over their words and responded from his own world of sensory overload and sensory aversion. It is sometimes concerning yet somehow endearing all at the same time (parents of a special needs child, can I get an amen?)

We got to watch as the guys loaded up onto the truck in only one minute (literally) and were on their way. Touring with the secretary, while I appreciated her efforts, just wasn't the same. Thankfully, it was only a first responder's call and they were back in less than ten minutes (according to the captain, about 85-90% of their runs are first responder calls and only about 10-15% are actual fires each year).

So the very humorous Harry Connick Jr. look-alike fireman resumed our tour. He was telling us that they do try to save personal items when possible, and gave a shining example of braving fallen roof timbers to save a box of photos for one family.
One homeschool mom spoke up and said, "I told my husband that if our house is ever on fire, he's to save our dishwasher."

She giggled at her comment.

I tried to control my twitching eyelid (that's what I get for rolling my eyes.)

Her self-amusing giggle wasn't nearly as hard as I giggled, however, when Harry Connick Jr. spoke up and cracked, "So,...he would grab you by the hand and lead you out!" Get it? Save the dishwasher. Bahahahaha! Harry and I were laughing to the exclusion of everyone else on our tour, who clearly missed or didn't get his joke (it was early).

We finally headed upstairs to take a look at the fire pole. Now, I once visited my dear fireman friend, Dan, at his station in Cleveland (Hi, Dan!!!) It was an old station (I believe they called it the bat cave) and indeed had a pole. Dan told me no one really used it though (curse that 70's show, Emergency, for making us think they do.)


So Harry's telling us that the pole is the only one in our local fire stations and is there for historical significance, that "no one really uses it." According to him, they used to let touring parents or chaperones slide down the pole. That is, until one dad went THUD at the bottom. Good thing he was among EMT's, eh? I'm thinking he might should have, what, held on? Just thinkin'.

So, 'bout the time Harry's finishing up this story, Brandon (age 2) decides it would be a good time to pull my sweater out and take a look-see inside. Mortified, I pulled it all back in place with as much dignity as I could muster. Oh, the game was on. He did it again. And AGAIN. And now, I had an audience. A "we're pretending we don't notice this hilarious power struggle but we actually DO notice" audience. Swell! I couldn't put him down, lest he made a bee line for the pole. At the same time, I wasn't reveling in the thought of defending my pieces-parts and dignity against the will of a 2 year old. Did I mention it was a brass pole? I flushed with embarrassment as it took on a whole new meaning in the midst of our power struggle.

Fire station tour!
Half dressed mom and a brass pole.
Fire station tour.
Half dressed mom and a brass pole.

Oh why, oh WHY could that live call not have occurred in that charming moment?

Needless to say, I was sooo glad to be done with our little venture to the local fire station. And if my house ever catches fire, you can be sure I'm calling the next town over.

Toni