When I was a kid, I LOVED the 4th of July. My family would get together with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. We anxiously awaited until it finally became dark since my Dad and his brother were way into pyrotechnics and *may* had procured some illegal fireworks.
This one time, they lit up a firework that spun in super fast circles, like a whirling dervish. In it’s little dance, the wheel of fire spiraled up a car and over the roof, where it landed under the car. We squealed in equal parts of delight and sheer terror. Would the car explode? Would the whole neighborhood go up in flames? (Spoiler - no, the firework just stopped. Totally anticlimactic).
My brother, cousins, and I wanted in on this action so when we were allowed to hold sparklers and “play with fire,” it was like, the best thing ever! Better than eating s’mores until the break of dawn. Better than unlimited popsicles.
These memories are the blueprints for my 4th of July celebrations, however, I am the only person out of my brother and that set of cousins that still lives here. Even though the “adults” still get together, we’ve slowly formed our own 4th of July traditions to ensure Marie and Thomas have their own blueprints that are filled with fun times with their friends.
Growing up, I always thought that things would always be the same, traditions and family would never change.
They never do stay the same. And that is bittersweet.
Sometimes things work out in ways that you could never imagine.
And that is incredible.
Hope you had a happy holiday!
|I die of cuteness.|
|So excited to play with fire.|
|This. Is. Happening.|
|Writing her name in fire. Kind of like Katniss.|
|About 30 seconds before his sparkler went rogue and the sparks|
ended up on his hand. He now has blisters.
And I will be collecting my Mother of the Year award.