Fireworks

It turned out to be a really good day. Though we slept in and only made it to the parade in time to see the remnants of floats driving away - we did get to enjoy a leisurely morning. We got some nice sun, and some nice easy-going rain showers. We got to have lunch with one of our favorite families. They invite us to crash their party year after year. We have perfected our sad, hungry puppy-dog faces. Later we saw another friend win his volleyball tournament. Charlie was patient as always, and napped most of the day. The evening was relaxing watching bits and pieces of Star Wars and X-Men movies, as we waited for the fireworks to start.

Now, I will admit that I have, in years past, been a bit of a Scrooge when it comes to fireworks. But I followed my cute husband and kids, blankets in hand out onto the lawn on the hill to watch the show coming from the stadium below. Despite my reluctance, I was quickly reminded that one of the best things in life is seeing my children happy and excited. And so I jumped into the pile of kids, husband and blankets, even though it wasn't very cold, and watched the fireworks. We cheered for the finale, only to have it start over again. They got us twice.

Chloe kept a careful vigil over her 9-month-old cousin, throwing a fit and pinning his shirt to the lawn every time he tried to crawl away.

As the bombs burst in air, my mother-in-law called out, "Happy Birthday, America!" To which Ellie, in her trademark earnest enthusiasm, responded, "AMERICA, we got you a surprise! IT'S FIREWORKS!!"

We shouted out names for each blast, creative and original names like "Fizzy," "Sparkle" and "Blast-y." Then after a particularly large and bright firework, Ellie declared, "Beautiful of God!"

The real finale was pretty spectacular. I found myself pointing and screaming along with the kids, "Oooh! Did you see that one!?" And I decided I didn't mind the fireworks so much this year. I kinda liked them.

After the lights were gone and the sounds of the explosions had stopped bouncing off the mountains around us, I rolled up in the blanket and wished to camp out there for the night. I felt fourteen again. I would have stayed there, but realized the shrieking beyond my smiled-closed eyes belonged to two little girls playing tug-of-war with one of the blankets, hours after their bed-time, and I was the 33-year-old responsible to restore them to their beds.

The night-time ritual was quickened since the kids were pretty wiped out from the day of celebration, slushies and sugar. And I went to sleep with visions of sparklers dancing in my head. I think it was my favorite fireworks show ever. And I think next year's will be, too. Happy Birthday, America!