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Red Hot Fire

 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."

So I did.  He was right.  

Today, he sniffed the air and said "It's another burn day. You should call."

Right again.  I don't even know what to say.  

He will drop everything he is doing to watch Ross start a fire in the woodstove.  When I let the woodstove burn down to coals this afternoon, I knew I could count on him to help me get it going again.  He told me exactly what to do and sure enough, we were back in business. When I complimented him he said, "I watch Dad do it and learn something every time."  He is five.  I don't remember studying anything but Lady Lovely Locks when I was five.  I mean, she's pretty much got the corner on late 80s hairstyles, but not a lot of life skills going on there.  He impresses me.  And has me brushing up on my parenting handbook.        

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