Fire works.

Yesterday began much like most Independence Days begin in our world. Allie and I went on a Fun Run in the morning. It was 2 miles, and we finished with a respectable time of 20:03. She placed 5th in the Kids Under 12 category, and we were sweaty, but we didn't get passed. Also, Allie has legs like a gazelle. When that kid decides to get serious about running, she will be a force to be reckoned with. Then we had a pancake breakfast at church, there was a short patriotic program, and I got teary-eyed like I always do. Boden spent most of his time pulling the American flag decorations out of the grass, and at one point had a fist-full of about 15 of them.

Normally, at the end of the 4th of July, we find ourselves at the Sammamish Commons, fighting for blanket space and trying desperately to keep the kids entertained until the show starts. This year, however, events took a decided turn for the better. A friend of ours invited us to his family's house to celebrate the 4th with them. He was rather convincing in his arguments, so we agreed. We were a little concerned about them setting off fireworks in his backyard, because the city has been cracking down and issuing fines for this for the past couple of years. Fortunately, just outside of Sammamish, where his family lives, is unincorporated land, where apparently they can light things on fire to their heart's content.

We showed up to a fabulous party already in the works. The kids bee-lined for the pool. (Can I just insert that this was a milestone for me? This was the first time in the past 8 years that I have been able to sit on the side of the pool and chat with friends, without having to get in the pool myself to help the kids. It might not seem like much to you, but to me, this was HUGE!)

Boden being social with a lady friend.

After much chatting, snacking, and socializing, the menfolk announced that the Civil War Reenactment was ready to start. Wait, what?!?

Some people read fireworks warnings and take them as warnings. Not this bunch... Apparently, they read the warnings and saw suggestions. So the men and teenage boys put on protective eyewear and non-flammable shirts, and then proceeded to leave their common sense behind. They divided into teams and each team had a pile of bottle rockets, Roman candles, and Bazookas. These fireworks state very clearly, "Do not hold in hand." I'm sure the "Do not point at other people" warning is implied. And yet, that is exactly what Alex and the other guys did, for about 20 minutes. We found out later that in addition to the fireworks they were shooting at each other, some of the men had set up fireworks in the field earlier, and rigged them to remote detonate on trigger when one of the teams got too close to them. I was reassured that we did have a fire chief in the audience, and I decided that I would only panic if he did.

In those trucks were all the other fireworks for the big show later that night. Smart place to make home base, right? Please note my sarcasm here.

 As the men and teenagers ran around the field like idiots, shooting rockets at each other, the women and children stood a fair distance away to watch. (Not far enough, though. A few stray Roman candles sent us scurrying out of the way.) The field filled up with smoke and we felt a little like war wives, hoping our husbands got out alive. What is it with men and the need to shoot at moving targets? I imagine women through the centuries have asked themselves the same question.

Here's a short clip of the insanity. Please don't mind the cackling in the background. It was all absurdly funny.

After the "battle" was over, the boys and men all came back up to the house, counting burn holes on their shirts, showing off ash streaks across their skin, and bragging about how many people they had hit. Alex reenacted the famous kiss picture from WWII, storming over to me with an announcement that "I survived!" and then kissing me in a low dip. While this (the reenactment and the kiss!) was the highlight of the evening, our hosts also put on a great fireworks show with a professional-grade fireworks once it got dark.

Even their sparklers were much more flammable than the wussy ones I have been using up until now.

Here are my take-home messages from the 4th of July this year: 1. Having a party with a small group made up of people I already know was soooo much better than bickering over blanket space at the city fireworks. 2. All men are idiots, especially when they have fire in their hands. 3. Bug spray should be applied every half hour to avoid being eaten alive or sucked dry. 4. Boden will still sleep like a champ, even after he has guzzled several sodas.

In the tradition of my mission, I am going to include a bug bite count on my posts this summer, just for sympathy. Feel free to feel bad for us.
Alex: 0 (Alex claims he found one just now, but I think that is just his competitive spirit kicking in. Oh, wait. Now he says he's up to 2... No, I take that back. Now he's at 4. Think he'll be up to 14 before I finish this post?)
Kami: 4
Allie: 13
Boden: 1