My least favorite (holi)day eve July 3, 2012.

I get it, as an American, I am incredibly proud of what our forefathers accomplished and the vision they had for this WONDERFUL country; but, why fireworks? Just the name suggests danger. Fire destroys everything it touches. Even a purchased firework and tends to last but a moment (hopefully), 99 cents for a pow or crack, puh-lease. I live with 4 pyromaniacs, the baby is just pretending to be scared so that I'll turn my back for just a second...

 #1 & #2 had baseball. The older was supposed to umpire the younger's game, so I had to think fast for a way to get #3 to agree to stay home with the fewest tears possible. I agreed to let him have a punk; yes, it was lit by me. I am sure my neighbors would've gotten a laugh if they made the mistake of looking out their windows and catching sight of me trying to light it. When I was a kid I got the choice of using my parents' lighter or their lit cigarette so lighting a punk freaks me out.

Here is a picture of #3 lighting Smoke Bombs moments before he burnt his finger. He is fine today, but it still hurts and he has a blister. The baby was okay with the Snaps and Smoke Bombs.  He happily ate his yogurt and laughed at his big brother. Not pictured is my glass of coping wine and my constantly reminding pyro #3 to 'do it over there'.

Oh well, tonight is THE big night. Hopefully no one else will get hurt and the neighborhood will remain in one piece.