Ahh, 4th of July. What you -- and two glasses of Riesling -- do to me.
We had a fantastic day -- really relaxing.
My favorite part?
A tie between sitting by myself on the front porch, enjoying our swing and reading a magazine while Scott ran an errand or two... AND... playing with Ryan's girlfriend's little girl, Jayda, the smartest three-year-old I've ever met.
I feel really content and did I mention relaxed? Perhaps so relaxed that my wind wanders too far for its own good.
I hear fireworks in the distance; I'm not sure if they're the "real deal" or just one of the MANY in-the-backyard shows in the area. (That's so frightening!) The police scanner is freaking out about burns and brush fires, presumably from the latter group of fireworks. We have the Sirius 90s station playing downstairs. The wind is rattling the blinds in my office, a breeze floating across the loose wisps of hair from my bun.
And I think of my childhood.
Despite dealing with things way beyond what I should have and far above my age, I really can't complain too much about my childhood. My mom and dad made it special, or as special as humanly possible.
My mom really made holidays special in our house. I don't know what it was about them or what gave her the added strength 5 or 10 days a year, but she found it and she used it, making reindeer noises on the roof Christmas Eve (how DID she do that?!) and creating bunny tracks through the living room on Easter morning (good ole baby powder).
The 4th of July was just as neat.
We always went to the same fireworks display in a nearby town, or at least until the year she passed away. I remember lining up along railroad tracks, semi-paralyzed with fear that a train would run us all down, sitting on my mom's lap smelling her hair and watching all the amazing colors in the sky. She would tell me which ones were her favorites and what some of them reminded her of.
"That one looks like a little pink cat, don't you think, baby?"
I was too mesmerized to respond. Maybe just a nod of the head.
She loved fireworks and she made sure we all knew that.
Whenever I see fireworks, I'm semi-paralyzed all over again, like the time on the tracks. Although this time, instead of a fast-speeding train, I'm being hit hard with a memory of her.
A good memory.
The colors flash above me and rain memories down upon me, filling me up with good times.
I had such a good childhood. Such a good mom.
And so many beautiful fireworks.