I sent the boys outside to play with fire this afternoon. I'm not even kidding. It's wet out there. What could possibly go wrong? Out they went with their flint and steel and about two dozen cotton balls. I reasoned that at best, they might actually learn some legit survival skills, and at worst they were getting some outside time. I felt like it was a pretty genius parenting move. The boys were thrilled to be given permission to start a fire, and I was able to make dinner without anyone telling me what they didn't like (at least until it hit the table). Fischer is so obsessed with fire that I'm fairly confident he will grow up to be a fire fighter or an arsonist - depending on Ross and my parenting skills. Yesterday Fischer woke up, came into the living room and poked his head out the door. "I think it's a burn day," he told me. "Why is that?" I asked. "It smells like a burn day. You should call."...