Walking down a sidewalk with my at-home kids, my husband and my mom, toting a few meager supplies from our car, down blocks of sidewalks and through a parking lot and then on to the lawn, sitting on blankets in prickly grass, waiting with little ones for the sky show to start.
Wondering why after six kids I still never remember to ask if they need to use the restroom before we leave the house, especially when our destination does not have the facilities to facilitate our urgent and inevitable needs.
Piling up on the blankets watching the fireworks and watching my kids watch the fireworks. I don’t know which is more entertaining. Frank’s face turns toward the lights like a satellite dish toward the signal in space.
Making the long trek back to the car with all our stuff that seems to have doubled in size and weight. Sitting in our car along with hundreds of other lawn dwellers who had the same idea about the “short cut nobody would think to take.”
Singing in the car on the way home and then carrying the sleepy kids up to their beds when we finally arrive back home to our stuffy house. Open the windows.