You know you’re a firefighter’s wife if:
Your kids would rather play with the garden hose than the expensive water slide you bought them to cool off with this summer.
Your husband’s cell phone rings more often than yours.
The only new additions to your husband’s wardrobe in the last year are from EMS and/or ARFF conferences.
“Great Balls of Fire” has become your theme song.
You can read military time, and so can your kids.
You have to beat women away with wooden spoons who think they’ve got a “safety question” for your man.
Every boy-child you know wants to visit your children’s daddy at work.
Every teacher wants your husband to come and give a “demonstration” for her class.
You teared up watching the firefighter father of six on American Inventor give his speech about the tree-top device he invented to prevent Christmas Tree fires (and you don’t’ even watch trash shows like that . . . it just happened to be on . . . your husband was watching it).
You know how to make a spaghetti dinner for 8, in 30 minutes.
You’ve played more games of “how long does it take to get your gear on” than anyone will ever know.
Your kids enjoy tobasco sauce more than any child their age should.
You find patches from fire departments near and far in strange places, like your panty drawer.
You cry when you see picture of the old time firemen and their ancient equipment in your local museum while accompanying 2nd graders on their field trip – and they all look at you like you’ve lost your mind because, come on lady, those are cool fire trucks, what are you crying at?
You love that your husband has his dream job.
You love that there is a long lineage of firemen in your past.
You have a feeling that there will be more in your future.
Your husband is always the one manning the b-b-q at picnics and get-togethers.
Yet you cringe every morning, when he kisses you goodbye in your half-asleep state, that he won’t come home after his shift.
You fear the big one.
You fear what he has trained, and trained and practiced for time and time again.
That he will be called upon to do his job, and I don’t mean teaching CPR.
But you must believe that all is well.
You must believe for the sakes of those three sleeping babes who haven't a clue that their daddy is leaving for work in the wee small hours of the morning.
It is your job.
And you must do it.
But god, it is hard sometimes.