A Fireplace Carol

The wood was wet to begin with . . .

We just got home from a long weekend up on the North Shore. A great time was had by all, but it was raining or thinking about it the entire time. That’s okay; there was plenty to do. We shopped. (I bought woolen mittens and got all excited to read about them on the tag only to discover they are made 30 miles from my home.) We looked for moose. We drank coffee and ate fish. We looked at waterfalls.

One thing I love to do when we are “Up North” is build a fire. My parents had a Franklin stove and since I — for whatever reason — got up at 5 a.m. to do my homework, I got very good at fire building. So I am in charge of the fire. Our cabin had a fireplace (which we laid all the chairs in front of so Baby D could not get near) and every night we built a fire. Well, the first two nights went pretty well, but by the last night I had run out of dry fire wood. I anticipated this problem and began drying wood by the fire the first night, but we were also out of dry kindling and it was just tough going that last night.

Unfortunately, this was the night I declared we were going to roast hot dogs and marshmallows by the fire and so a fire had to be made to feed my family. As I was slaving away trying to get the fire going, Brent was out at the truck — doing whatever he does out there, picking up crumbs or some such thing. Colin came in and said he was heading for the bathroom. Fine. I kept working. I heard Colin begin the bathroom process and didn’t think much about it until I started to look around for Baby D. Colin, for some reason, had decided to pee in a half crouch position facing away from the toilet (I think he was thinking about sitting later). Baby D had pulled himself up onto the toilet and was leaning into the toilet to watch the waterfall. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry or take a picture. I wish I had done the latter.

I got my fire built. Colin declared he did not like hot dogs roasted on the fire. I offered the non-burnt one to Brent. He took it. I ate the burnt one. It was time to come home.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s