Playing with fire is only bad if you burn yourself...

I am never sure why, but Guy Fawkes is a big holiday.  Everyone celebrates it here, and for at least two days before and about three weeks afterwards, fireworks are being set off as soon as the first stars are seen in the sky.  I am sure if you had to question anyone closely on it, very few would actually know anything about Guy and what he got up to.  But, as with Halloween, actually knowing what you are celebrating is a sideline to the fun of celebrating whatever it is.  

This year, we bought into the whole fireworks thing (the boys are of an age to appreciate them and not be scared witless anymore) and so packed all and sundry into the car to go to the beach, from where the official firework display could be viewed without the hassle of being in a crowd estimated to be about 150 000 strong.  The thought of having my two escape artists in a crowd that large was beyond my comprehension!  

Everyone in our area had had the same idea, it seems.  The beach was packed with revelers, all eager to set off the biggest fireworks.  There is a thing about a man and his fire that has always fascinated me.  Just watch men at a barbecue sometime - the man who controls the fire controls the world.  It is a symbol of a man's potency (also probably from caveman days), and heaven help the man whose fire goes out with a damp fizzle - he is forever regarded with a mixture of pity and scorn by the other males of the group.  Anyway, the same can be said of a man and his fireworks.  The man who comes to the beach, dragging a firework that he cannot properly lift up is regarded with awe and deference by all those males out-classed by the monster display of male prowess.

Fireworks were being set off on all sides and the boys were wide-eyed as they watched the proceedings.  Anticipation for the start of the main event was high, with the question "Is it starting yet?" being asked about a hundreds times from the car-park all the way to the end of the pier.  Then, just as the main event was about to start, a kind couple with a girl about the same age as our boys offered the twins a sparkler each.  As the music was striking up and the huge fireworks started shooting off into the sky, the man was using his lighter to light up each of the boys' sparklers.  As showers of stars fell on either side, they waved their sparklers around with abandon.  The fireworks went unnoticed as each boy discovered the joy of owning his own fire for the first time:  "Me Man - Me make fire".  And when the one sparkler went out before the other, I definitely caught that same look of camaraderie passing between them that I have seen on so many barbecuing men in the past.  The next generation of fire-makers was upon us.  

As the last of the large fireworks above our heads disappeared into embers, they looked up from their now-dead sparklers. "Has it started yet?" asked the one.

Addendum: Fireman Sam and Fireman Paddy on a mission

It never fails to amaze me what a young, impressionable mind can take in.   Having been either pregnant or breastfeeding for the best part of four years now, I have found that the existence of "baby brain" is not only conjecture, but is a provable fact.  I have become one of those moms who sits like a blob in front of the box (on those very rare occasions when I want to watch something) and falls instantly asleep.  


Little minds are not like that.  They are full of questions (in Autumn - "Why are the trees naked?"), comments ("You have a fat tummy, mama.  Mine is thin."), astute observations ("If I eat chicken, it goes straight to my muscles and I can be strong like a superhero") and nothing seems to escape them.  In all situations, this is great, though I can't help but wonder at the wisdom of partnering sleep-deprived mothers plagued by baby brain with inquiring young minds like these.


In all situations an inquiring mind is great: save possibly this one:  My two sat transfixed watching how the firemen pumped water to spray on the fires on the Fireman Sam video (forget the fact that not much makes sense in Fireman Sam, kids take it as gospel anyway.  Like why, when someone falls off the dock, wearing a full belt of tools, do they call the fire-station to come and rescue him instead of throwing him the life preserver clearly pictured on the dock not 10 feet away? But I digress.).  
After my two watched the fire being put out, action around the home for the next few days consisted of putting out imaginary fires all over the place. One or the other would suddenly, and without warning, screech "There's a fire in the playroom!" and true to form, they would both run to find their helmets, get on the bed with the brass headboard in order to slide down the "pole", and make their way to the fire singing the lyrics of the Fireman Sam song.  In most instances, this resulted in a harmless bit of fantasy play and lots of shushing noises as the fire was quelled.


However, that was before they discovered the pump.  On a camping trip, we used a person-operated pump (like a large bicycle pump with a long hose) to blow up the air mattresses for the tent, and the boys' eyes gleamed at this heretofore undiscovered piece of "fire-fighting equipment".  I should have taken more note of those gleaming little eyes.  The very next opportunity, the firemen sought out this valuable commodity, digging it out of the cupboard in the garage with ease and stealth.  But where to find a ready source of water to pump?  They were both too short to reach the basins or sinks.  One source sprang easily to mind.  With great ingenuity, they inserted the long hose of the pump down the bowl of the toilet and into the subterranean depths of the inner workings of the loo.  Then they stepped back, and proceeded to pump with great determination, dedication and energy....


It does not take much intellect to imagine what happened after that.  It would have been fine, apart from the fact that, having three kiddies, I always make sure that there is a nicely-coloured loo block in the cistern for those non-flush emergencies.  This block turns the water bright (and I mean bright) blue.  Which is fine as long as the water remains in the loo. When it is splashed over the walls, floor, miscellaneous bath mats, and parts of the ceiling, as well as over two not-so-thrilled and yelling firemen, it is not as attractive. An innocent firefighting maneuver resulted in about two hours of post-operation cleanup.

I totally forgot to mention the incident to the Sweetpea until relatively recently.  He looked at me with horror on his face. "Do you know how many times I have had the end of that pump in my mouth?" he exclaimed.  Turns out that since that toilet operation, the pump has been a bit faulty and has required the use of teeth (namely those of the Sweetpea) to hold the end on.  Oh well... what doesn't kill us, etc., etc.