The Day a Firetruck Came to Our House and Other Fine Adventures

You have no idea what an exciting world we live in.  Really, you don’t.  Maybe your synapses are scorched, your eyes filmed over, your heart ossified, but there are everyday things around us that are REALLY AMAZING.

I took Number Two out for a walk yesterday because he was acting out the part of “Mini Tornado” in our house, pulling open drawers, knocking over lamps, emptying baskets of books and toys, staggering in an unpredictable and dangerous path from room to room leaving debris strewn and nerves frayed.  Our walks usually begin with a few minutes of conventional riding in the stroller followed by a squirmy exit from the stroller like a grub exiting an egg sac.  Number Two then needs to push the stroller around himself.  He’s incredible adept even though he’s driving blind, being only two and a half feet tall.  He will respond to calls out to turn left or right, but most requests to avoid running into parked cars or pushing the cart up someone’s front walk are met with redoubled purpose and a firmer step.  Fine.  But here’s the amazing thing we came upon yesterday:  a meowing cat!  I know, right?  It walked up to us, meowing for attention, saw little Number Two, and made a wide detour to sit on the porch of a house and squint at us, batting its tail.  Number Two couldn’t believe his luck.  He imitated the meow sound, calling out at top volume, “Mewmewmeeeewwwwww!!!” and throwing his arms back behind him and bending forward at the waist.  Kowtowing?  Threat gesture?  Pure excitement?  You’ve never seen someone go as berserk over a cat unless it just sprayed on a newly upholstered divan.  We continued our walk only to circle back three times to shriek, laugh, and point at the cat.  Well, he did.  My synapses are too scorched to get excited by a cat.

Then a firetruck pulled up right in front of our house so a fireman could get out and talk to a neighbor and it was like the BEST DAY EVER!!!  Note Number Two standing at the fence wondering if it’s possible to climb between the rails, up into the cab, and to drive the truck himself, maybe even HOKING THE HORN.  He stood, jaw hung loose, as the truck finally pulled away and the firemen waved.  It was too much.  He went inside for a nap.

About Peter Soutowood

Writer, architect, father, husband.