The day after one of our first cold nights, I was sitting on the living room floor with the girls, when I noticed what appeared to be wisps of smoke coming from the roof of an abandoned building across the street. There's a little green space past the abandoned building. I wondered if someone was grilling in the space. I told the girls to stay put, ran across the street, confirmed that there were no grillers but there was definitely smoke, and called 911.
Big excitement ensued.
Around seven fire trucks eventually parked across the street. Many sirens. Many hoses. (Many firefighters standing around looking bored, but never mind). The girls loved it.
Frances wore her winter jacket like pants, with her legs in the arms, to mimic the fire fighters' pants.
Those may look like sofa pillows, but they're actually hoses.
This is what Chandler looks like when she's making a spraying sound.
Helmets, boots and pajamas were necessary, naturally.
Big excitement.
Except the girls have never mentioned it again. No fire fighter play. No, "Our mom's a hero." Nothing. Ah, well.
Now, if someone could just do something useful with the remains of the building before another homeless person sets it on fire again trying to keep warm, that would be lovely. Dream big, Jamaica Plain, dream big.
No comments:
Post a Comment