Fireworks & Fun...

I hope it has come across at some point in my blogging life that I love where I live.  I love the mountains and the sun and the contrast of changing seasons.  And on a smaller scale I love our home and our yard and the neighboring parks.

But I KNOW the message has been signed, sealed and delivered that, LawdHaveMercy I love where I’m from.  Every single little thing about it.  Really.  Especially the way we kick up our heels and pull out all the stops for holidays.  Oh man, have we ever set the standard for a Sandlot-esque mid-summer celebration.

 

July Fourth in my home town rivals Christmas.  It might be better.  Yes, by golly, I’ll go with it… Independence Day is my Christmas in July all clad in red, white and blue and wrapped up with a star spangled bow.  I adore it.  I relish in sharing the magic of it with my little family.  And I know they are tucking all its sights and sounds and smells and tastes into the folds of their gray matter so they can replicate its awesomeness for their families some day.

 

  

We soaked it all in this year with our annual trip to the Main Street Parade, a visit to the park festivities, a float down the canal and a backyard BBQ with my Mom’s amazing cooking followed by home made ice cream and snuggles on blankets spread out over the lawn as we basked under the glow of fireworks lighting up the sky.

Yes, this is an irrigation canal.  Yes, I am swimming in it with the littles.

Please, don't report us as we are professionals.

Mmmmmmmmmm….

 

That is the sound of a hugely serene exhale.  That’s how I feel when I think of our Independence Day festivities.  And that sound, as opposed to words, will have to do for this year’s journaling of our summertime Christmas.  Well, that sound, and these pictures.  Because, really, who doesn’t love a baby clad in Americana?  I know, right?!

 

It should be noted that Kaelster was the life of the party the night before the 4th of July.

Big Man was jumping on his fancy air mattress for his crowd of hard core cousins until Midnight.

MIDNIGHT.

Hence the yawn and lackluster candy grabbing efforts.

Until next year, Richie-Richfield.  I love you with my whole heart.  Don’t ever change.  (No seriously, if you ever ditch the fish grab, I will bawl my eyes out and probably become a rioter holding picket signs to bring it back, baby.)

You’ve been warned.

  

Thank you - Amen.