My Fireworks Are Bigger Than Your Fireworks

Yesterday was the 4th of July. I did not grow up with the 4th of July. Well, we had a 4th of July, but not one that with BBQs and big balls of fire. For one, the 4th of July was always cold during my childhood. And, while this 4th of July in Portland will not break any heat records, it’s clear that my children will grow up with a much different experience of this date than the one I had.

Exhibit A:

I wonder who comes up with the names for these things.

This year we were blessed to spend the holiday with three teenage boys who may have pushed the excitement to a whole new level for Thomas and Samuel. Oh, and Kei was right there in the mix.

Thomas was instructed (no, ordered) to stay as far away as possible.

While Samuel remained safely in my lap (in the same pajamas he wore to bed the night before and lived in all day – hey, we’re on vacation).

Some of the fireworks we’re a little loud.

And they only lasted about an hour, but worth every minute until the sun went down and our stash ran out.

Little did we know that, after Thomas was in bed and we all settled around the backyard fire pit, that the REAL fireworks were about to begin.

The view up our street (thankfully a good distance from our car and house).

And then they got bigger…

And bigger…

And bigger…

Until the grand finale, seen from our backyard.

It’s insane, expensive and dangerous, but I have to admit that it was pretty cool. Thank you neighbors for the free light show. Until next year…

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