So there we all were: humoring Wesley by building a fire so he could roast his spelling book on this next-to-the-last day of school. Of course, after a beautiful sunny day, just as our flames were starting to build up, we started feeling the patterings of raindrops. Do you think that fazed my husband the pioneer? Of course not. He just kept splitting his logs and building up the fire. And so we roasted our marshmallows, dodging the spelling book that was being shoved all around in the fire (for maximum burn time, I’m sure.)
And while I was letting the kids eat a lot more marshmallows than they usually get, Roger was very quiet and busy on the other side of the fire. I didn’t even notice. (Although I was surprised that he didn’t seem at all upset at Wesley’s announcement of, “I’ve had eight marshmallows already!”)
Last evening, for some reason, I was pondering the deep and meaningful question, “What is it that I find romantic?” And I couldn’t come up with anything. Seriously. I thought maybe that side of me had flown away when I stepped into my thirties.
I changed my mind this evening. I was off in my own little fire-world when I heard Wesley saying (slowly and thoughtfully) as he stared into the fire, “I love…..” Judah came up with the missing bit of the sentence. “….Ruthie.” (in an almost disdainful tone of voice that might have implied, “What else would Daddy finish that sentence with?”)
They watched the whole process. Here’s a picture of the end result.
And that is something that I find romantic.