Fightin' fire with fire

At Shaun’s suggestion, V and I walked over to the fire department’s open house today. It was cool and kinda rainy, but it’s only three blocks away, so we toughed it out. Plus, we’ve lived here 6 ½ years, and I’ve never made it to one of these here open houses, so I figured it was about time. V loves stairs, and this place didn’t disappoint. There was an upstairs AND a downstairs. There were also free hotdogs, chips, soda, and cookies, all of which V is also a fan. Outside, they had various demonstrations: how to rescue someone trapped in their car (I think they used the jaws of life…we were fixated on something else. Probably a puddle); a chance to sit in the driver’s seat of the big fire engine; hold a hose to see how powerful the water is; and a mini-house where they gave a presentation on fire safety in the kitchen and in the bedroom. While we were waiting to get into that last one, V said to the pudgy kindergartener ahead of her, “I’m a firefighter.” They were both wearing their new firefighter hats with that cute elastic string tucked under their chins. “Nuh-uh,” Mr. Kindergartener said. “You’re not a firefighter.”

“Yes I am,” V said, rather vehemently. “I told my mama, and now I’m a firefighter.”

“No,” Mr. Dreamsquisher insisted, louder this time. “You have to have training. And be a grownup.”

V was unphased by this, though, and simply restated her earlier point, matching his volume. “No. I told Mama, so now I’m a firefighter.” Then she shrugged her shoulders and looked the other way as Mr. Kindergartener rolled his eyes at his mother. She whispered “It’s pretend, honey. That’s okay if she wants to pretend.”

I rolled my eyes at V and as she took my hand, I told her she could be a firefighter if she wanted to. She said, “I know.” Then we wandered away to jump in some puddles together.