If ONE MORE PERSON falls into a well...

I remember when the Eldest (we'll call her Bean) was George's age.  She had the most vivid imagination and spent a lot of time in an imaginary world with imaginary friends and animals.  Most notably, Anne of Green Gables, Gilbert (whom she lovingly referred to as "Yogurt"), Marilla, Matthew and Diana, the entire VonTrapp family from the "Sound of Music," and Sleeping Beauty.  I loved when she was Maria.  She "carried" all of the VonTrapp children around in her hands, as if they were each 2 inches tall.  And she would say, "come with me, Leisel, Fredrick, Louisa, Brigitta, Kurt, Marta and Gretl."  Very hilarious to hear coming out of a tiny 3-year old's mouth.


Anyway, since I was, apparently, living in her imaginary world with her, I was frequently referred to as one of the supporting characters in her life.  She would walk out of her bedroom first thing in the morning and announce, "Mommy, I am Anne of Green Gables, and you are Marilla (or Matthew, or Diana, etc.)!"


George is just like Bean was as far as imagination is concerned.  He is always in an imaginary world, with imaginary friends.  The types of characters he becomes, and interacts with, however, are very different from the ones Bean did--hers were more "girly and romantic."  His are more...well, labor intensive.

For a long while, he was Bob the Builder, and I was Wendy, and he would act out construction jobs with his little "Bob the Builder" vehicles--Scoop, Muck, Dizzy, Roley, etc.


Lately he has moved into the Firefighter's vocation.  He is obsessed with anything to do with firetrucks, firefighting, hoses spraying water, helicopters dropping water...  His favorite TV characters are "Fireman Sam" and the various people in Sam's life.  Everyday each person in our house also becomes a character from the show.  We get our assignments in the morning.

George is usually Sam--the main, most important, and very smart, hero.  As he greets the rest of us, we find out who we are for the day:  "Hi Elvis."  Or, "Hello, Station Officer Steele!"  We are expected to respond in kind: "Good morning, Sam!"
Occasionally, we will get chastised when we respond this way because, every once in awhile, he isn't Sam.  "I NOT Sam, I Charlie (pronounced 'Ch aah lee' because he's picked up the Welsh show's accent)!"  Like we would know...

 My favorite is when The Dad is greeted as "Penny." He, for obvious reasons, prefers being "Station Officer Steele."  I enjoy being Elvis.  Because it is a cool name.  And Elvis sings about putting out fires.

When George ISN'T Sam, I am usually bestowed the honors.  Mainly, I think, because everyone else--Elvis, Station Officer Steele, Penny, and Norman--leaves for work or school, and it would be kind of anticlimactic to have the main character gone for the day.


Chewy is the only one whose role is consistent:  he is always "Firehouse Dog."


Getting to the point (slowly).

When I was drawn into Bean's world, it involved a lot of conversation--talking about what she was doing, where she was going, who she was in love with, and then watching her act out various things.

I think the most intense experience we had was when she was Anne of Green Gables and was up on a chair.  She told me that she was going to jump and throw herself into Yogurt's arms.  Except that I wasn't Yogurt that day--I think I was Marilla. Or Matthew.  It doesn't really matter.  She was seeing Yogurt below her, but I was seeing the hard, marble floor.  As I recall, I had to "talk her down" by explaining how the Scarlet Fever had made Yogurt too weak to catch her and that I would have to do it.  It ended well.

Other than that experience, play was very tame.  Highly entertaining, but very tame.


Tame is not how one would describe George's imaginative play:

A fire breaks out every few minutes, and Sam immediately bursts into action, grabbing his helmet (and mine), sliding down the pole, gathering all sorts of ropes and hoses and stuff, and then running my helmet to me.  At which point, I am directed to put my helmet on because "we are going to a fire at ______________ (fill in the blank here--I think every part of our house has caught fire), and Elvis, you need to come with me!"

He then runs very deliberately* down the hall, yelling for me to follow him (his "Firehouse Sam" run is the best--he leans forward a bit, and pumps his arms, and adds a little jump to his run--like he is on the moon without gravity.  Apparently, this is how firefighting men run.  It's very manly.)

I am expected to don my helmet and follow him, at which point I am handed a hose or rope, or told to go back and get the helicopter because "the fire is too much and we are going to need the water from the helicopter!"  I have to say, I'm pretty good at flying the helicopter.


We put out the fire, and then Sam takes my helmet and equipment, goes back to the station and puts it away.  I go back to whatever I am trying to do--fix dinner, make my bed, do laundry, etc.  For about 3 minutes.  At which point, another fire breaks out, and we are on our way again.


In addition to fires, people are falling into wells at epidemic proportions around here.  Seriously, if one more person falls into a well, I may quit my job as a fire fighter.  I can't take it anymore.  I think Norman (pronounced "Noooh man"--again, the accent) fell into the well at LEAST 20 times yesterday.  And he wasn't the only one.  Mandy and James fell in quite a bit also.

Every time we get a "well call," I think to myself, "AGAIN?!?! Seriously, people.  It is a WELL.  You can SEE it.  It's not like it is invisible."


When people fall into wells, we have to take the chain and Sam's phone, and I have to lower the rope/chain into the tub, er, well.  Then Sam climbs down the chain into the well, grabs the person, climbs back out and then makes a call to Station Officer Steele to let him know we got Norman out again.

Needless to say, I am WORN OUT.  I don't know how the real fire fighters do it all day.  The well situation alone is enough to drive one to drink.

And as you can imagine, I'm also not getting much done around the house.  I tend to do better if I have a string of minutes all put together into a nice hour or so, not a whole bunch of disjointed, three-minute packets.

I'm trying to be patient, but when the "ALARM" goes off and Sam comes running with his hose to "put the fire out" every time I light the gas stove to cook dinner because "the pan is on fire,"** I have to admit, I get a little testy.

But I do enjoy being told, "Elvis, you're a HERO!" every time I help rescue someone from a well.

And then I grin and think to myself, "no, I don't think I'm a hero..."

Speaking of things that are hilarious to hear coming out of a three year-old's mouth, my favorite firefighting experience so far has to be when I was in the bathroom and Fireman Sam came running up to me, carrying a little purple stapler.  He held it up and yelled in a voice only a hero uses (though 4 octaves higher):

"It's OK Elvis!  I've got the JOBES (jaws) of LIFE!"

(which jaws we now use regularly to get people out of wells.  I'm still not sure how they really help, unless the person gets random metal slabs wrapped around himself as he falls into the well...but according to Sam, we need them.  So I oblige when he yells for them as he hangs from the rope, executing yet another successful rescue.)

*

It is nice when George has someone else besides me to play with.
He loves that cousin of his!
This video shows his "hero run"--complete with pumping arm action.

**

The pan is on fire, yet again.