CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- From the time I said yes to my daughter's question on Friday evening to right about dark on Monday night, I must've questioned my sanity a few dozen times.

She's a sly one, that girl of mine. Timed things just right.

She knew I'd just finished cleaning out a little storage building we have in our yard, knew that while I'd put much in the trash, some heavier things had been dragged to a nearby spot in our yard.

Classier folk have a chiminea or an outside fireplace or a stone fire pit, and while burn barrels don't hold the same status, they do have a bit of hoboesque charm. In Fullerville, ours is called That Place Where The Grass Won't Grow.

And That Place was rather heavily populated when Celeste asked if, when we burned it, she could throw her school papers from the past year in the fire. She added some bit about what a perfect way it would be to finish off the school year and celebrate the end of middle school.

"What a cool idea," I said. "Sure."

"Can I maybe invite Katie and Melon over to burn their stuff too?" she asked.

"Don't see why not," I said.

Suave negotiator that she is, she allowed that to settle a day or two before telling me how excited her friends were about the idea.

"We should make it a tradition," she said.

I'm a big fan of traditions. This, my wily girl knows. I was putty in her frighteningly capable hands.

Putty she manipulated into agreeing to allow her to invite more than a dozen friends into our back yard Monday night, the last day of school in Kanawha County, for a homework-fed bonfire.

If, perhaps, you're in that same happy place I must've been in when I said yes, allow me to highlight the two components that had me questioning my sanity all weekend:

1. Teenagers.

2. Fire.

My catastrophizing skills are well honed, so I spent the next few days entertaining a variety of potential scenarios. Marshmallows toasting on sticks would lead to an Olympic torch run re-enactment that ignited the many trees in our yard; a sudden gust would send burning homework papers onto neighboring rooftops; a sudden torrential downpour would trap the horde of teenagers inside our house.

Come Sunday night -- the night before -- I was so anxious I barely slept.

All for naught.

Although stifling, the weather was perfect. There wasn't even a hint of a breeze. Not a single raindrop. And no flaming torch runs.

Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined an evening so perfect. Nearly all the homework-burners arrived within minutes of each other, instead of stretched over hours, as often happens. The fire lit easily, burned evenly and remained under control while they -- of their own accord -- took turns manning the hose to keep it that way. Hot marshmallows were smashed between chocolate and graham crackers. Food wrappers and empty pop cans all went into the trashcan. And best of all was their somewhat ceremonial burning of homework.

It's something I genuinely hope will become a tradition.

One we'd be happy to host.

Reach Karin Fuller at karinful...@gamil.com.