Tuesday Tacos at the Firehouse

My husband is a volunteer firefighter, and every Tuesday the station has taco night for the volunteers and their families. Fourteen people crammed around a folding table under the fluorescent lights, a giant pan of carne asada, a crockpot of beans, and three kinds of salsa nobody agrees about.

The kids climb on the old engine when the chief isn't looking. A retired captain tells the same story about a runaway cow every single week, and every week we laugh. Someone always brings a birthday cake, whether or not it's anyone's birthday.

When the alarm goes off, half the table jumps up and runs, and the rest of us just keep eating and save their plates under foil. That's the rhythm of it.

I didn't grow up with a big family. Now I have this one, loud and full of salsa opinions, every Tuesday night.