A "Pear" of Stories

Today I had preschool at my house again, and our letter of the day was "F" so today we talked all about Fire. We talked about fire safety, talked about ways to put out fires, including with Foam-and I let them build a Jell-O fire, then put it out with Ready Whip cream,


Then we talked about putting fire out with water, and the kids all got a turn to put on the fire fighter coat and hat, and extinguish a candle with the water hose.


(My "fire hydrant" in the background is a little lopsided because Sarah was the last one to be the firefighter and it was only made out of construction paper)

Now, for those of you who put up with the trivial moments of my preschool, here is the second story in the "pear."

My grandpa called to see if we would be interested in picking some pears from his tree. The girls had long since picked all the fruit from our own tiny tree, so I told him I would LOVE some. When we got there he told me that he had picked some of the lower branches, and so if I wanted more than the remaining low-hanging fruit that I should just shake the tree and pick up whatever fell. He has always given me sound advice, so I decided to follow his counsel. I picked all the low-hanging branches, then decided to give the trunk a good shake. After the first shake I got one pear off--and it landed directly on my head. I won't say it was the worst pain I've ever felt, but it didn't really feel good, either. So, I repositioned myself, looked high up into the tree, and thinking I was safe, gave the tree another shake. This time, two pears fell. One was a bug-infested, bird-eaten half of a pear, and the other must have ripened weeks ago, for it was dark brown, inside and out. I know it was brown on the inside because I saw the insides when I wiped them from the back of my neck! Yep! I thought for a moment a bird had done its business on my head, but in fact, what used to be a piece of fruit landed on my ponytail, slid its way down my neck and down my shirt. Mm, Mm, Good!
I laughed so hard my sides started hurting, and as I told my grandpa, "I think it was a practical joke sent straight from heaven" because ALL the pears on that tree were just starting to ripen. Every single one I could see (other than said brown beast) was just gorgeous, waiting to be picked.
Well, needless to say, I gave up on the high branches, and called my bounty "good-enough!" But, my grandpa, after hearing my story, offered to share his harvest with me. Thanks Grandpa!