Stop, Drop, and Roll

If you stop by my house on any given day at 5:30pm, the odds are 50-50 that you will find my children either rolling around on the frozen grass in the front yard or army crawling toward the front door. Invariably, one safety expert will remind the others that the good air is closest to the ground.

"Stay away from that smoke," someone will scream, pointing to the ceiling.

"Get out of there while you still can!" someone else will yell in my direction as he or she somersaults off the front stoop.

After opening all the windows and frantically fanning the air under and around the smoke detector, I will join my troop of junior fire marshals on the driveway. We will stand there exposed to the scornful eye of Marge, the elderly woman who lives across the street and spies on us through her living room blinds, until the smoke detector gives up the ghost or one of my children recites a tidbit of wisdom gleaned from a Smokey Bear public service announcement, whichever comes first.


"Remember, only you can prevent wild fires."

"Thank you Cortlen," I said tonight through clenched teeth.

I have the unfortunate habit of burning dinners. The contents of the oven can't hold my attention like, say, the three-legged squirrel that lives in the tree next to our roof line.

It's not all bad or wasteful, I tell myself. My children are very well versed in fire safety.