Pyroball

You know how when something terrible happens how some asshole always pipes in, "Someday, you will be able to laugh at this. " Well enough time has passed that while I cannot yet laugh at it myself, it is sort funny to everyone not legally responsible for my yahoo kids.

After the 24th of July, Mitchell still has the urge to light fireworks despite the fact that he was nearly out. Like most boys his age, he found a thrill in lighting a potentially explosive devise, feeling the power in his hands, and the rush as he let it fly into the sky or drop it to the ground and run away.

Not too long ago on a Sunday night, Steve and I were preparing to retire for the evening to our bedroom suite. All of our kids and a bunch of neighborhood kids were outside playing on a picturesque late summer evening. Ahh the joys of youth and cool summer evenings.

The kids started daring each other to see who could hold onto a lit match and the the whole situation exploded into a towering inferno. Oh, I have gotten a little bit a head of our story. Steve and I were snuggling, enjoying our marital bed when we heard Mitchell at the door. Arg, I thought. Steve yelled at him to go back outside and play in the street - where all the cars were. Mitchell, swallowed hard and said "That is just it. We were in the street and now a cop wants to talk with you". Mitchell is a very good boy, but one who cries wolf way too frequently. Steve, not yet finished with his husbandly duties, yelled at him to go away. Mitchell, sheepishly replied, "Dad I am telling the truth, there is a cop outside and he is asking to talk with you". Steve jumps out of bed, pulls some shorts and a t-shirt on and grumbles all the way down the stairs.

At this time, I am happily finished with my wifely joys, so I go over to the window to look outside. Two fire engines and five cop cars are all in front of our house with there lights and sirens blaring. I look to the end of our drive to see two can of gasoline along side the mailbox. All the kids are talking to the cops and firemen. I watch Steve march into the huddle. I quickly run to my bed, pull the covers over my head and swear at myself for not stashing some Oreos somewhere close.

Some time later, Steve walks up stairs to tell me that the kids were playing "Pyroball". A game where they soak (however our kids just chose to pour gas all over a freshly tared road) a tennis ball, light it on fire and proceed to play soccer with it. Our kids went through over 5 gallons of gasoline before some kindly neighbor called the fire department.

The worse thing my dog, Reggie, ever does is take a big dump on the neighbors lawn. Aye-eye-aye.