Tuesday, July 04, 2006


I am not a big fan of fireworks.

Hate them, in fact.

I don't know if it started when my Dad lectured us over and over that staring at the welding sparks could make you go blind, or if it was before that.

I have always hated loud and unexpected noises - and couple that with sparks raining down on you from above....well, who can really like it? I don't get it. Hair is flammable, people.

I spent many a July 4th evening in my youth huddled underneath the kitchen table with numerous cow dogs. All of us whining. All of us with damp noses.

And through the sparks and the noise and the fire hazards of the upcoming evening, I will be out there...punk in hand...lighting the evil things.

Because that's what Mom's who hate fireworks, AND the thought of a significant other, do.


At 10:04 AM, Blogger anika said...

You're a good mom, Shari ... Now, tellmemoreimmediately what you mean about the thought of a significant other.

At 5:38 PM, Blogger rennratt said...

Brave mommy! For the moment, I leave all fireworks to the teens across the street. They buy the fireworks, set them off in the street, and clean up when they are finished. I watch from my kitchen window!

At 1:25 AM, Blogger KOM said...

Little man got to see his first fireworks this 4th.

He doesn't yet care for them, either.


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