The Fourth of July is my favorite holiday. American flags are the boldest and most beautiful symbol I decorate (maybe over decorate?) with. Watching fireworks from our backyard with friends and family is a perfectly patriotic way to wish The Ol’ U.S.A. a Happy Birthday. This year the shmoozing and high spirits were upbeat as the kids shared a major Sparkler Fest. Watching a small child hold that magical-glitter stick for the first time reminds me it REALLY is the little things that bring the most joy in life! The City Fireworks show started and I’ll admit, while spectacular, the Grand Finale was a big dud. Mr. Fireworks Dude made a mistake and forgot to light-off those last ten explosives simultaneously.
That’s okay, because July 3rd we celebrated with a Pyropalooza in my parent’s backyard. Grandpa Larry drove Daniel to Fillmore to buy fireworks and they were anxious to ignite the colorful smoke bombs, loud-sparky fountains and a box of assorted pyrotechnics. Why do boys gravitate toward explosives and fire? Danger, risk and that feeling that “nothing will go wrong,” must create extreme exhilaration. The hardest part for my boys was waiting for the sun to drop so they could begin. Good thing there was a bonfire they could fiddle with while they waited. More high-risk hijinks! I enjoyed the moment wishing a fire extinguisher was nearby.
My husband and son busted out their guitars creating an unforgettable memory. Listening to them strum with the smoky-fire smell looming while watching Daniel blow up the backyard leaves a remarkable mental picture. His finale was called “Pyropalooza.” That it was.
With the Fourth of July weekend over, we await another 365 days to repeat it. Until then, I am thanking God for our freedom, safety, good health and a multitude of other blessings that blast off all year long.