If a holiday is over 2 months away, I view it with rose-colored glasses.  In January, the Fourth of July conjures images of warm weather, cookouts with the family, and fireworks.  On the actual holiday, I can never seem to find those damn glasses.  The weather on the Fourth is too humid, Cousin Alice probably didn’t even make the potato salad, and Uncle Gary drank too much again.

The fireworks though.  They are always spectacular. All that was annoying to me doesn’t exist for the moment those gold flecks sparkle in the night sky.  I don’t even care about the charred paper that floats to the ground during the show, making the audience look like passive, awed participants in some sort of nuclear fall-out.

It’s fortunate that I like the fireworks since I gave birth to two firecrackers.  I often tell people that it’s like the Fourth of July everyday in our family.

A story my son invented this week kept me up past midnight.  It was truly horrific.

My daughter catapulted herself down 4 stairs, sending us to the doctor’s office again.  She was fine, thank God.  As soon as we got home, she ran right back to the stairs and attempted to fly again.

I hardly have any in-focus photographs because my kids do not stop.

I don’t look at our family life with rose-colored glasses because I’m knee deep in this “holiday” constantly.  Their non-stop nature and fiery tempers bring me to my breaking point often.  But, just like the actual holiday with all it’s sticky grumpiness, there are those moments that alleviate the stress.

One “Fourth of July,” my daughter was in the hospital for an unexplained illness.  She was poked and prodded yet her sass was never diminished.  After I picked her up from the exam table, she whipped her head around to catch the nurse’s eye and gave him the dirtiest, narrow-eyed, pursed-lipped look.  This prompted him to act a fool to get her to smile but she held it.  He was going to feel her wrath.

Ooooooooo! You get ‘em baby girl.

We had a “Fourth of July” at the playground.  As we got out of the car,  I told my son to introduce himself and ask the kids if they wanted to play (our constant routine to ensure a peaceful entrance).  He was so excited to be there that he took off running while screaming “HI MY NAME IS ___.  DO YOU WANT TO PLAY WITH ME?”

Aaahhhhhhh! Never let that enthusiasm diminish, little man.

In twenty years or so, I’ll get that distance from our holiday.  Once the toys are boxed up, I’m pretty sure those rose-colored glasses will reappear under a table orsomething.  I’ll mostly forget about the 97% humidity.   And I’ll remember with a grateful smile the best show on the best “day ” of my life, performed by my firecrackers.

I hope all of you have a lovely Fourth of July or plain ole’ July 4th.