The 4th of July is, hands down, our older boy’s very favorite day of the year. I mean, sure, his birthday is always awesome and something he looks forward to, and Christmas is pretty great, too. But this festive day involves a trip to Wyoming to the real fireworks store, not just some stand, and includes getting able to blow stuff up for hours and hours and hours. And hours.
This, er, chapel of sorts stands right next to the fireworks store.
If that chapel knew that these kinds of displays were on, well, display, they might have to have some sort of revival and expulsion of said display.
Someone short made out like a bandit.
I mean, really. Where else can you go shopping, with a grocery cart, no less, and exit outta there with all of your purchases in a black, heavyweight garbage bag?
(Those four photos up there are courtesy of Sammy-the-Guy. It was a no-girls-allowed trip for explosive devices.)
The morning of our big party, Hank put the big portable garage/canopy/white tent thingy up in our driveway, and wouldn’t you know it but our boy there watched over his fireworks loot for about four hours before the party.
Seriously. He sat outside in a chair with his legs crossed, and acted as sentry over his most prized possessions, while Hank and I cleaned the house, prepped food, ate lunch (the Goldfish took his outside to eat in that chair), put the toddler down for his nap, took showers, and mowed the lawn. He didn’t leave his post for more than two minutes, and only then to pop inside to ask when people would start showing up.
Finally, his wait ended. His buddies started filing in and they dove into some of their loot.
This one, in the meantime, dove into the cupcakes. Oh he’s sneaky.
My neighbor made those cupcakes, which turned out to be alarmingly green. She delivered them, cracking up about how she put the wrong food coloring in there. Our boy there thought they were the greatest cupcakes EVER made.
As per custom, I made our traditional 4th of July dessert: Individual Cherry Pies. I should really come up with a more festive name for them. How about Freedom Fruit Pasties of the Separatist?
That doesn’t sound very politically accurate.
Whatever. I got bored making them and my Aussie friend Shiela let it spill that she used to be a pastry chef of the glorious sort, so I handed over my pie making materials and let her finish up while I ate a newly baked pie behind her back.
They were soooo worth the sugar coma I fell into later.
By the way, my friends are not very competitive.
And they also have mighty fine technique, shown here in the of course non-competitive sport of Cornholio. Cornhole. Whatever. Bean bag throwing game.
Evidently, there’s a certain leg-kick thing necessary to good form and placement of those bean bags. And if you haven’t guessed yet, these yahoos are mostly from our CrossFit gym. See? Told ya. Totally non-competitive.
While they were tossing bean bags, other stuff was going on.
And then this smart thing.
The only thing that got burned on accident was his shirt collar. Oh, and the toddler’s neck. But just a little bit. But we were all ok, because we had a pediatric nurse, two ER nurses, and a veterinarian at our party to assess, calm, and stitch if necessary.
It wasn’t necessary, btw.
We also had some new babies to kiss and hug and pass back and forth.
Oh, and ribs. We had those as well.
I sort of overbought, due to a slight misunderstanding in communication from Hank, who said to buy four racks. I thought he said “four packages,” which I did and that meant, oh, about 12 racks. Thank you, Costco.
So, I also bought some gallon-sized ziplock bags, in which I placed leftover ribs as delicious goody bags for our friends to take home.
Best. Goody bags. Ever.
Hope you had a happy holiday. Let freedom ring!!