I am always surprised at the rules I have to make as a parent. Like this one: Do not house yourself in a garbage bin with the lid closed especially on the South side of the house during the high heat of summer.
What you don’t see is the hose they had strung between the empty garbage bin and the empty recycling bin as a sort of air exchange/telephone device. I pulled it out yelling, “What the hell are you doing? You can’t play in garbage bins! Especially not in this heat! No. These are not your forts!”
T-Bird had climbed in with Tulip, gotten hot, climbed out, ran inside to the freezer to retrieve that blue ice pack you see strapped to his forehead, and climbed back in. Tulip stayed in side the whole time apparently just playing with her pink ponies and G-Love was making really big plans while he was just trying to stay cool. She connected the two with a hose. She brought in graham crackers and a pillow just in case she decided to sleep in hers later that night. “Look mom! I can curl up just like a wolf,” she said as I screamed at her to get out. Get out. GET OUT.
Where was I when they were playing with these deadly and stinky forts? I was just on the other side of the garage wall printing on my letterpress the whole time with thoughts like, “They sure do play nicely together,” and “They sound so happy.” Because I could actually hear them, I assumed I was responsibly supervising. Admittedly, I was even beginning to pat myself on the back, “See. I’m not doing such a horrible job parenting.” That’s when I knew something was up because I surely didn’t hear the tell tale quiet that usually precedes a dumb ass move like this. I think it must’ve been the heat and the off-gassing in the plastic bins that made them so chipper.