When I was pregnant with Jonah, we lived in Montrose on the corner of a busy intersection where traffic accidents frequently occurred. About once a month, at least, all the neighbors would gather after hearing an accident--first to make sure everyone involved was okay, and then to commence in what was affectionately called, "car-accident fellowship." This would generally last until the emergency responders came, cleaned up the area, and left, and after the tow trucks hauled away the disabled vehicles. Because it was a busy intersection, and because we lived relatively near a hospital, we would hear sirens on a nearly daily basis. Every time Scott heard them, he would spring into action and run to the patio so he could see what kind of emergency vehicle it was and what direction they were headed. I remember thinking to myself how much fun it would be if the baby inside me were a boy so that Scott could have a little companion to "looky-loo" with.
15 months later, we have our little boy who is perhaps equally excited to hear sirens go by as his Daddy. Each time we hear a fire truck, Jonah stops what he is doing, purses his lips into an 'o' shape, and points a finger towards the air as his eyes light up. You can imagine his excitement on this past Saturday, when the local fire stations held their open-house.
I think everyone who was there had a kiddo or two (or more) in tow, but you could tell by looking at the kids that there were two distinct groups of families represented: those that were there with their kids because their kids wanted to be there, and those that were there with their kids as an excuse because they wanted to be there. I think we had a little bit of both. Here are some pictures of our day: