Smoke gets in your eyes

Even though it seemed to drag on at a sloth-like pace at times, the summer basically flew by. It was May, then it was June and suddenly it was August. I’ve no idea what happened to July.

Jason’s dream of nightly gatherings around the fire pit didn’t happen. Apparently the first time had been a bit underwhelming, and no one felt the need to do it again.

Until this week. I thought maybe some marshmallow roasting would be in order. Especially since we didn’t have anything pressing – like tending to a newborn – going on. And, of course, next week brings Kindergarten and Jason back at the University full-time.

So I headed to Safeway for jumbo marshmallows, Cadbury chocolate and graham crackers. And returned, to find the men starting a fire with damp-ish twigs and paper from the recycle bin.

‘What’s the man lesson for tonight, darling?’ I asked the professor, who’d also abandoned his dream of instructing his sons ‘in the way they should go’. The fire was taking a long time to get going, and the Hen had laid eyes on the bag of marshmallows. Things were beginning to go south. Quickly.

We’d already doled out a ‘raw’ marshmallow or two, to keep the troops happy. But the Hen wanted more.

‘Tonight’s lesson is patience’ Herr Johnson barked. It had little effect on the littlest one, who was in full-blown tantrum stage by that point.


Eventually the marshmallows got roasted. And tummies were filled with graham crackery goodness.


Followed by bath-time, which left the floor with an inch of standing water. And bedtime, which left the lingering smell of smoke on our pillows.

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