Typically, this holiday is my least favorite, with Halloween a very close second. Come on, who really likes those creepy plastic masks and strangers checking out your house as they ask for candy that rot teeth? I don't get it. Anyhow, let's discuss the Fourth of July and why I hate this particular holiday. I have a memory of a firework in my hair when I was four years old. Whether this event truly occurred has never been verified because the cousins who put the firework in my hair are not around to confirm or deny the action. Since it's my blog, it happened. I do not like the loud noises, the stupid, drunk people lighting off fireworks (i.e. the idiot neighbors lighting off fireworks on the dry grass less than fifty feet away from my house right now), or the sound of sirens that are blasting through the air as fire trucks race to put out fires. Or the police driving past my road, when they should be arresting my drunk, idiot neighbors who continue to light fireworks, long after the other shows have ended. Another M-80? Is that really necessary? Sigh.
I admit, the housing development across the street puts on a fantastic show. I actually don't mind watching it, from my couch. The fireworks are pretty, the sound isn't as terrible, and with a glass of wine in hand, it is bearable. That being said, this year's show brought an unexpected surprise to the holiday. Lo and behold, our son hates fireworks. This discovery thrills me! Not only does this make my heart happy because it is one thing we have in common BUT each time there were loud booms during the day, he ran into my arms. And stayed there. Yes, people, Alexander cuddled. In fact, he even watched "Happy Feet" in my arms. The entire movie. I'm not kidding. The entire movie. Ah, the sweet bliss of a child curled in my arms. I haven't felt that since he learned to roll over and crawl out of my arms. Two years ago.
So, from this point on, I have vowed to embrace the Fourth of July. I will cling to the hope that as a three and half year old, Alexander will again, hate the holiday and want to cuddle. I will cling to the hope that my paranoia is unwarranted and my house will never burn to the ground. And I will cling to the hope that I will learn to love fireworks.
After all, I am fully aware that the day will come when my husband and son will light fireworks in our dry grass as I watch, fifty feet away. Waiting for the cops to show up.
