Okay, about The Precious and the 4th.  I started to tell you this when it was relevant, you know, like on the 10th, however my computer ‘effed up and well…’nuff said.

The fourth dawned bright and beautiful (in some parts of the country) or so I heard.  We always try to make a day of it on the fourth.  We stay home, sleep in, have a little lunch, I lay in the pool, my hubby plays golf…wait, that’s pretty much every day of our lives.  This year we feasted on hot dogs, apple pie, and watermelon.  I think that may have been a first, but this fourth we were excited about seeing The Precious see his first fireworks with us.  Last year his secondary grandparent’s were with him, and at three weeks he just wasn’t all that interested.  This year the primary’s are at bat.

We started trying to let him know days in advance of this wonder we were going to bestow upon him.  We finally got him to say “fireworks” with awe.  He would make some kind of an up in the air motion with his little arms and say “boom” rather quietly in that I can see this is important to you so I’ll play along way that he has with his dimwitted grandparents.  All day on the fourth his parent’s kept telling him that we were going to see fireworks.  All day long he kept repeating it.

They had to have dinner with some friends and then the friends were coming with them to watch the fireworks.  The friends have little girls 2 & 5.  The little girls were very excited about the fireworks.  The two year old kept telling my daughter “fireworks” over and over.  It sound more like “Ayaurks” but what the hell, not all children are as advanced as The Precious. Speaking of…we could see him in the backseat of the car wearing his KC chiefs baseball cap that his dad and Boppy have just been itching for him to get big enough to wear.  He was grinning from ear to ear.   He came bursting out of their car like a man with a mission…all thirty some odd inches of him.   “Fireworks, Emmy!  See fireworks!”  “You bet buddy…big fireworks.”  This went on with every family member in attendance.  “Fireworks, Boppy!  See fireworks!” so on and so forth.  He was running in circles blowing his train whistle and chanting “fireworks…fireworks…fireworks”, and we were all enchanted.
Then the fireworks started.  When the first crashing boom lit the sky in a star pattern of colors, the little guy was off and running.  “No fireworks!  I don’t want it!” he screamed and continued to scream.  He ran straight for his parent’s car and was begging for the car seat (usually a torture device) by the time his mother caught up with him.  I had his uncle from Chicago on the phone who wanted to talk to him,  so I very delicately opened the door and handed him the phone.  “I don’t want it, fireworks!” he quickly told his uncle.  “I don’t blame you little dude.  They used to scare me too.”  After five minutes or so the babbling got the better of his uncle, and I got the phone back.  He couldn’t believe how incensed he was.  I walked back to the display leaving the chaos to his mother.  Such is the joy of being the Emmy.

After the fireworks were over, my non-vag daughter motioned me over toward the car.  She rolled down the window and said my presence had been requested.  I sat down by The Precious and listened to him tell me (very exactly) that there was no need for fireworks.  The man who had invented them was a moron.  His parent’s were idiots for bringing him here, and would I please help him escape this unnecessary madness.  My sister opened the opposite door to tell The Precious bye.  “Shut the door!” he shouted at her, and when she didn’t respond as quickly as he felt she should have he repeated it over and over again, “shut the door…shut the door….shut the door!  Finally, she understood and came around to my side, stuck her head in quickly and made her exit.

I just know there is a moral to this story.  Maybe it is that even a two-year-old knows not to burn money.  I don’t know.  I do know this, next year we will spend all day telling him how wonderful fireworks are and maybe he’ll like them and maybe he won’t, but someday he is bound to get in trouble chasing someone with a bottle rocket, or placing firecrackers to close to the old people because he is a little boy.  This bliss can’t last forever.

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