We went to our first fireworks show of the season this weekend. A warmup, if you will. Last year, Buzz threw a fit of magnificent proportions on the 4th of July, complete with leg kicking, arm flailing, nose running, and tears gushing. The majority of the incident was spent with him in the car, attempting to soothe his fear and quiet him down and failing miserably.
Before the festivities began this time, we aspired to fabricate as much preparation as possible. We were all “POW! POW! FIREWORKS!”, and he was all “POW! POW! FIREWORKS!”, hand gestures included, and everyone was smiling and happy. With the first illumination, however, Buzz turned from smiling and happy to hostile trepidation. At least we didn’t leave with a layer of snot covering his chin, though, so I’ll consider it a success.
I wanted to take pictures, but it’s difficult to balance a camera, 3 kids, and a blanket without dropping someone and/or breaking something. Instead, I’ll use my super awesome power of the written word; they were big, they were bright, they were colorful, and they were loud. It’s like you were right there, isn’t it?
Or, as Jedi proclaimed after a particularly vibrant color burst, “The guys on the moon could see that!”