Take a Letter Maria

Dear Mommacita Feet,

I thought it being the Sabbath day and all, that I would take this time to use my talents and show appreciation for all the wonderful things you are and have been to me through the years. You'll never know how much I love you. So, this being your lucky day: I wish to sing for you. Not that I am particularly talented in singing, although I wish that I was and in my next life I will definitely go to the effort to stand in the 'sings really really great' line so that, in my next life, my appreciation singing to you will be even better and you will know even more of my gratitude.

Whatever.

First I'm going to sing a little number from Donna Summer entitled "She Works Hard for the Money".

Donna Summer, working really really hard in a soda shoppe. I love to spell shoppe with 2 p's and an e.

Feet, you DO work hard for the money, and I'd better treat you right.

ta da. ta da. pause ta da. ta da.

Then for my next number, I'd like to do a little something from Barry White.

I'm thinking His Lady Gloria Formally Tibbitts is digging and groovin on Barry's purpleness.

I don't know what this particular Barry song is called. But it is a sexy little number that has the words "You'll Never Know...." in it. And then it goes on to tell everybody about the tender love I have for you. It's true feet, it's true. Tenderest of love I feel for you, and you just don't know it. But now you do because of my singing about it right out loud for every one to hear, including Barry White who is in heaven listening to Tim.

Then next on the repertoire would be the Bangles, "Walk Like and Egyptian".

Girl on far left has solution to cankles.

This song mentions the word walk in it, which is something you do for me, and it also has a line that says: 'Life is hard you know (oh whey oh) So strike a pose on a Cadillac.' I sure have fun striking poses on Cadillacs when life is hard with you feet. At least I will now.

After the Bangles, we move on to James Blunt, "Beautiful".

Now, I know this can get a little redundant, but feet, "You're beautiful. You're beautiful. You're beautiful, it's true." Although the purple toenail pedi that was done for the wedding is way past it's prime. Maybe we could do something about that this week.



And since I am seeing commercials for 'Momma Mia' 24/7 on TV, then I would have to include a little "Dancing Queen" by Abba.


His and her minty freshness. All in one zingy piece.

"You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life See that girl, watch that scene, dig the Dancing Queen" I know, I know, I'm not really ready for the dancing mode as of yet, what with the boot and all, but feet, because of you, I can dream about jiving and having the time of my life. And what girl doesn't want to be dug because she's the Dancing Queen? All because of you feet. All because of you I might be dug.


To end my tribute to you, my fabulouso feet, I'm going to conclude with a little Gary Wright.

He sang a tasty little number called "Dream Weaver" in the late 70's. And I'm including this song, because during the Glitch wedding tgar and yomama helped save you, my precious feet, and now I have one boot removed because of them. So tgar and yomama, and your special friends Tom and Caren, this is for you. Because I know it's your specialist of most specially songs. YOUR SONG. Dedicated to just you two cute kids.....In a dream weaverly kind of way. And feet, it's also for you because there are other people in the world who love you and look out for you just as much as I do, and because feet, your dreams can be woven just like anybody else's...maybe you dream of pink polish instead of purple, I don't know, but I do know that your dreams can weave:

"I've just closed my eyes again

Climbed aboard the dream weaver train

Driver take away my worries of today

And leave tomorrow behind"

(If you're not waving your arms in the air and swaying back and forth like you're super chemically altered after reading 'Dreamweaver', then I don't know what to tell you.)

And now I close this letter to you my beloved feet and I hope that you feel super important. Which is just what I wanted to do with my Sabbath day.

All my Love, Kissies, Hearts, Kitties, and Unicorns,

Mommacita

Truth be Told

Never before heard truths on this freaking blog that you are dying to know:

There are 2 man-childs under construction in the Mommacita family. One will carry on the family name. Jaque-o-stinky, good job on the y chromosome. Or is it x? Can't remember.

I can write in my journal that Thursday I had a root canal re-rooted. Screaming good time.

The new daughter in law went to the American Idol tryouts in Phoenix with a friend. She is not singing. But during the long wait in line, she became a wardrobe consultant. I think the word the kids are using now days for that is stylist. She didn't use that word. I'm trying to appear hip and now.

I'm off sugar. This is particularly a thorn as there are delicious left over cupcakes in my freezer. The Mia Maids will truly benefit from this truth.

I'm putting a package together for Schneebs. It is a late birthday package. What do you want in it Schneebs? So far I have crystal lite, chlorine ridding shampoo, and two maternity items. This is your big chance. If you don't let me know, you won't feel like doing the happy dance when it arrives. Did you hear that happy dances are vital to a growing manchild? Well they are so there.

My granddaughter Gracie hasn't got her birthday package either. I'm shooting for tomorrow. I feel like the biggest looser. Who doesn't get their first grandchild's present to them on time? Mommacita, that's who. Pointing at her. Staring at her. Looking down on her. Ashamed of her. Can't look in the mirror at her. Looser. With a capitol L. More Looserey than anyone you've ever heard of. tsk to you mommaloser.

I am down to one boot. I went out to return wedding gifts today, and I felt as light as a wisp of sweet nothingness. I had no idea the effort it was taking to drag those booties around. No wonder no one gets a birthday present from me. PS the world took a poll and your excuses are tired and boring Mommacita.

When an endodontist fills your previously root canaled tooth up with infection fighting medicine, the next day you feel like you can take on the world. It's amazing. And fantabulous. Recommending to all.


By the way... We're back to calling blogspot stinkingrottenspot. It should be obvious why.

Feature Blog! Feature Blog! Feature Blog!

Today's blog is what one might call a 'feature blog'. Today's special feature is what really really happened. Today this special feature freaking blog is entitled:

"HAIR-DO'S I SAW TODAY AT THE DENTAL SCHOOL

FOR REALS. "

Disclaimer: The following pictures are not real. They are the closest things I could find to my reality, as I lived it. And when you see them you will feel bad for me. Which is, I'm finding, one of the purposes of this blog.

(Which brings me to last week's blog about the dental school. What the heck? Do you think I'd really post a picture of my OWN teeth all red and plaquey? Seriously? That picture was an Internet picture. INTERNET. Someone (my own flesh and blood) told me on the phone today that my teeth were gross. INTERNET people. INTERNET!!! And since I'm clarifying here, let me just state, that while it may appear that I threw my beloved golden boy son under the bus on the same post as the red plaquey teeth post, I was NOT trying to throw him under the bus. If I wrote a blog about how proud I was of him and how cute and smart and adorable he was, (now be honest) would you really bother reading this thing? No. No you would not. You would put your finger in your throat and make a throwing up noise and roll your eyes and say to your best friend 'Mommacita is pretty sappy and gaggy and must be pitied.'

When I say that I wasted my earthly existence in Duber's dental chair, well it's a big lie. I actually love being in his chair because he is so cute and smart and adorable and I love to watch him in his element. I am his adoring yet beautiful mother, and I can't get enough of him. And by the way, his teachers think he's the bomb. Well at least one was coerced to say so.)

Any who, I present to you "Hairdos I saw today at the Dental School for reals". and Curtain.

Bald, with a little bit of mullet in the Back

Now the REAL bald with a little bit of mullet in the back had only a few strands of creepy sparse straight hair. But it WAS brown and about the same length. And he really stood out in a crowd. Let me tell you.

Curley Mullet with Facial Hair

Now the REAL curly mullet with facial hair was not blonde, and he didn't have the length you see above, and there was a goatee along with the stash. And don't let me forget to tell you that in the back, there were ringlets. I think those ringlets were hand made on purpose. On purpose ringlets. And he sat in the chair next to me and at one point in his treatment, I noticed that 2 piggie tails had been put in. One on each side. I had trouble not staring. Self control was needed. Applause would be appropriate here.

Comb Over Man

OK. This one is fake. I didn't really see comb over man. But if I did, he would have made it on to this special feature blog. Because it is about being deserving.

Helmet Hair

Now the real helmet hair was not a brunette, in fact she was a pre-fab blonde. And she was in her son's chair. And one time he called her Mommacita. And she asked her son's teacher if her son was darling or not. It was Jr. High all over again for her son in the embarrassment department. She really needs to stop doing that to him. But then the son cleaned her teeth, and helmet hair heard him say under his breath as he chipped away at the plaque: 'This is like popping zits'. Helmet hair knew he meant that in the most complimentary way possible, because having the gene pool he had, popping zits is pure family fun, a recreational activity, that has elicited good times and trophies in days gone by. So of course no offense was taken. Which proves, once again, that Helmet hair, you are oh so much more than just hairspray and sparkly aqua eyeshadow.

I am Into TV and While that Should Constitute Embarrassment, Sadly it does Not

I was laying on my Sunday nap bed and I just kept thinking this thought:

What has been invented since I was born? Did it really make life better? Should I make a list? Why do I keep thinking this? Out of all the things I could be thinking about why go there? These are questions I have no answer to. But here is a list with a running theme. Just to keep my head quiet. All of the following has been born in the last 50 something years:

here we go:

1. Color TV.

Oh I remember when color TV was the biggest deal EVER. It was only in the finest of motels. Yes, I said motels because our family NEVER stayed in a hotel. We were strictly MOTEL people. Usually with a 6 in front of it. Then my Grammie got a color TV. We piled into the car and drove an hour just to watch Lawrence Welk at her house.

I always hated that show. But her TV made me drool. When our family got one for Christmas one year, I was sure we were finally rich. And would stay in hotels from then on. I was sorely mistaken. I am saying this purely to make my brother laugh. You're not the only one who reads this thing you know.

2. Remote Controls.

This picture is for my brother as well, because he loves dogs. And the finer things in life.

Back to remote controls. I'm not sure when our society became so lazy that someone decided that they better invent something so that while we were sitting on a couch willingly having our minds programmed we would have a device that would make it so we could mindlessly sit and never have to leave the couch no matter what, but I'm glad they did. If I had to get up and change the channel, my feet would have broken months ago. It is their only hope for healing.

You know you wanted to see this shot again. You KNOW you did.

3. Satellite TV.

When I was a kid, there were but 4 channels. That would be: abc, cbs, nbc, and the channel that was public broadcasting. My favorite shows as a preschooler were: Captain Kangaroo, and Romper Room, and that was it.

(Romper Room was basically a show that was a show about what preschool might be like if ever there was such a thing as preschool. I always believed with all my heart that if Miss Julie ever said my name at the end of Romper Room, that that was a sign from heaven that I was supposed to be one of the kids on Romper Room the following week. When it finally happened, my mother said PPHHHHHHT and that was that. I really wanted to be on that show. Another young girl's dream unfulfilled.)

Later on, I turned into a Flintstones and Bewitched girl

and then there was the Bonanza phase and the I Dream of Jeanie phase. Not to mention my love affair for the Beav. I liked him because I felt superior to his social awkwardness. Believe it or don't. ANYWAY, there was never all that much choice in the world. I wonder how I would have turned out if I could have been exposed to Super Why in my life. Or the Lifetime Movie Network. Or a 24 hour news channel. All I know is that on Saturday mornings I still wake up and am afraid that all that will be on is ABC's Wide World of Sports

and I am utterly delighted when I have a million things to choose from. I have already experienced enough 4 man bobsled races to last me a lifetime.

4. HD TV.

While I have a TV that will accept HD, I have not yet made the plunge. I am too cheap. I would be embarrassed if I was into TV SO much that I had HD. Really crossing a line there.


5. HUGE TVS.

My new daughter in law, His Lady Gloria Formally Tibbitts, has expressed dissapproval of Tim's ugly huge TV. And rightly so. I appreciate her outspokenness, particularly since I concur. I threatened to bury Tim in that monster TV, but then I got addicted to the Home Shopping Network for a deep dark time in my life and that was that. When Tim's TV dies, and goes to live with Tim and Gracie the cat in heaven, I will wish like crazy for another big TV. And all my children will chip in and buy me one for Christmas. Because I know at least ONE daughter in law thinks I need a new TV. And she will do ANY THING for me because I birthed her man, and she's new to the family and she has a desire to make me love her the most.

You know, if I was a really mean mother in law, I would go ahead and let the new daughter in law think she had to fork out money for a new TV for me. I could sit around and wait and see if she took it upon herself to head up the buy-the-beloved-Mommacita-a-new-TV-committee, when the proper time came. But I am not mean, because in fact on Romper Room I learned from that bee puppet to Do Be a Do Bee, and Don't be a Don't Bee. Which means be nice. It's all a joke His Lady, all a ridiculous joke. You never have to buy me a TV. Unless of course you take pity on me and my widowness.

PS I really really miss values TV

Because I had Already Downloaded These off the Internet....

Because of the glitch on blogspot (which happened on the 'thank-you-post to-the-helpers of-the-hometown Glitch-event') that would not allow me to post any pretty pretty pictures to go along with the afore mentioned post, here are the pictures that blogspot has finally decided that it is OK for me to freaking finally use in a blog. So guys, it is alright now to stop calling blogspot stinkspot. Releasing you all from that made me feel ever so powerful. Just so you know.

#1

This is dedicated to those who lifted, moved installed, hauled, set up, took down, and well, you get the picture or you must be a big duh. Can you believe that this is the governor of Callieforneeia?

And they all really looked like this in my head, except for my bishop/hometeacher because that would be just downright inappropriate

#2

A measley purple flower

Because remember I couldn't even download a single ONE. So here's ONE. Woo Hoo

#3

Italian Sodas
I still have left over syrup. I will make you one if you come over. And you will say Mommacita, you are delicious. And I love you.

#4

CUPCAKES!!! Who doesn't love cupcakes??

We had miniature ones. 12 flavors. I have some in the freezer, in fact tonite I had a peppermint, an almond joy, and a peanut butter cup one. Aren't you sorry you missed the party ??? HUH??

#5
And for a parting gift: dipped in caramel, then roasted almonds, then chocolate, then drizzled with white chocolate on all sides, pretzels. All wrapped in cellophane and a purple ribbon. Festive! And Yum!

This was actually the best part, and the ones up there are lightweights compared to the Glitch ones. Sadly, these are all gone. So don't bother sniffing around my house for any of these. It would waste your time.

And speaking of wasting time, I warned you this blog was one. Proof. Right here. Right now. Like you needed it.

Curvature of the Self Esteem Spine

If you were to look at me right this second, you would see me , with boots, and with a spine that is in the shape of a dental chair. And you would think to yourself: Mommacita looks liken she's been trippin on some really bad acid.

I went to the school yesterday, the school where the pretend dentists turn into real live ones. I got worked over. I was a patient. Dubes was the pretend Dentist that spouted off all this authority. And guess how long the appointment was? No, really, I want you to guess.

An hour? SCOFF! 2 hours? SNORTIE SNORT! Try 4 HOURS of my earthly existence that I'll never get back. Let's pretend that you're interested in what happened there. Read on. If you see alot of um's it's because of mommacita embarrassment:

For starters, I was told by my son that my oral hygiene was poor. WHAT? Um hello. Yes I brush. I taught YOU how to brush. Twice a day. YES sir, I'm sure I brush TWICE a day. Um. ok, not as diligent on the flossing. You know Mr. Pretend Dentist, usually when the REAL Dentist who has earned a REAL diploma looks in my mouth my teeth have just been professionally cleaned.

When was the last time cleaning took place you ask? January.

Yes, I'm aware I'm due for another cleaning. Why don't you get out a scrapey tool Mr. Pretend. Dentist.? That's reserved for the 4 hours I'll be spending in the chair NEXT WEEK? Jumping up and down now. Jumping up and down now with a curved spine. And bootz.

You want me to WHAT? Chew up a pink pill to show the world my plaque? What is this, SECOND GRADE? I remember doing this in second grade. Are you going to call all the other little Pretend Dentists over to scoff and giggle? Because I remember the scoffing and giggling part in second grade.

And after that you plan to show me my pink teeth in a hand mirror? Um um um. (I'm noticing every station has hand mirrors that are exactly alike. I used to change your diapers mister. You better be careful if you offer me that hand mirror).

Just in case you're wondering, my tongue is still a bright fuchsia. Do you even care ABOUT THAT? Wouldn't THAT be considered at least really really gross hygiene? Whatcha gonna do about that? huh? HUH?

What? We're not done yet? And now you're going to make me bite into wax and then screw on a headpiece that connects it to my ears and nose? Did you dig that equipment out of a box that said 1955 on it because I think I saw that equipment in the movie "Monsters That Scared People in 1955". Hey, wait, don't you want to get a picture of me with something screwed to my skull that is clipped to my nose and wrapped around my big fat ears while I am wearing my bootz? Don't you want to document Mommacita the freak for all to see? Um to the umst.

And then you're going to take impressions of my teeth? Like when I had braces? I get to wipe that rubber gunk off of my tongue and cheeks and chin again in this lifetime?

This is all I've got to say. I am one terrific Mommacita. And I really must love that little pretend dentist of mine.

Poor Hygiene my foot. Not that my feet are anything to brag about.

PS Happy 4th Anniversary Dubes. You picked a darling gal, and I'm ever so proud of you.

PSS But I'm pretty sure you liked making my mouth pink. Was it payback for that little grounding in 8th grade that you totally deserved by the way and after today I'm not at all sorry, not an eensy beensy bit?

I'd Like to Thank the Academy

Praise be, praise be.



The hometown party of Glitch is so very ova.



There should be a top ten list here. Or a ridiculous conversation that takes place in my head between me and my broken feet. Or 14 paragraphs of a silly nature that focus in on something like how much I sweat each time I put on my mother of the groom costume. (Summer weddings = a very sickening sweat reflex. I know, I know, a tad more that you wanted to hear.) moving on: Or pictures. I should have pictures on here. Or a rap song. On the joys of purplishishness. Or something cool that has never been done on a blog, that would delight and excite.



But I just can't muster it up for you. I am pooped. with a very in front of it.



However I'm not too pooped to sing my heartfelt thanks for all the help that came my way. The widow Mommacita received a lot-a lot of help. And gratitude abounds. I have so much gratitude that it overflowed in my heart and I have put the excess in ziplock bags that I have stashed in the dining room, because there are flowers in there, and my gratitude (for you the helpers of the Glitch party), dictates being in a room full of fresh flowers.

So here we go, my list of thanks: (Cue spotlight. On me. Because I'm SO comfortable in it. I'm in a tasteful sparkley gown (for the first and only time because for you, my helpers, I don a sparkley dress). I am not sweating, (for the first and only time, because you, my helpers, deserve to be thanked without sweat), my hair is perfect, my makeup flawless which includes long and fluttery eyelashes that will lay against my cheek when I go to sleep tonight, and the microphone I'm proclaiming my thanks in is just the right decibel level. )



To Keri Sellers Pierson: You are amazing. And thank you for beautifully delivering 12 different flavors of cupcakes on cue. They were darling, tasty, and enjoyed both by the eyes and the lips. I told everyone about you. I can be a reference for you. Expect some calls. There was interest. Pop a cork, the birth of a business has begun



To Stacy who doesn't read this blog and doesn't really know me: The Carmel nutty chocolately pretzel favors were a hit. I personally sat by two people who at theirs at the open house and all I could hear was crunch and ooo-oo and oh my gosh this is good.



To Debbie: The flowers were lovely and tasteful and purplie. You are a master. Thank you for making all of my children's weddings so loverly.



To my quilting girls (Ketti, Carol, Debbie. Cindy, and Joan): I hope you got a lot of compliments on those aprons because you all were quite fetching in them. Yes, I've been single for awhile. Thank you for sewing those puppies up. And thank you for running yourselves ragged all evening long making italian sodas and ice water and serving up fruit and cupcakes and hand dipping chocolate strawberries and calling me alot and asking me if there was anything you could do for me, and really meaning it and picking up table cloths and sandwiches and bringing over cake plates and candlesticks and tables, (your whole houses really) and purple fiestaware vases with pretty purple crystally things in them, and for cleaning it all up and bringing me sodas and drinks while I was greeting guests, and doing it all 2 days before stake girls camp that you are all in charge of. I would kick me out of the group if I were you because I'm too needy.



To Kathy, my 2nd son's mother in law: Thank you for running errands for me. My feet are that much more healed because of not having to run about. You are so thoughtful and GREAT!



To Sheila: How do you thank someone who just shows up with potted plants? with candles? with a husband and crew? with a load of cut up watermelon? with helping hands? with healing hands? I've said it before: Tom's a lucky guy.



To Layne and his boys: Thank you for pickup and delivery of tables and chairs and chaircovers. I've never had more pleasant or wholesome or reliable or nice delivery people.



To the youngsters: Thank you for moving furniture, putting up my house numbers, loaning everything from screwdrivers to ladders, assisting in fixit projects, advice on the tables, calling folks, fixing taco soup, serving taco soup, and that ever ready but highly important listening ear.



To the Dubwaski and Larski: Thanks for laying barkdust, priming, painting, not spilling paint everywhere, airport runs, putting up the newlyweds for a night, setting up, taking down, table decorating, heavy lifting, hugs, kisses, and general familial love



To tgar and yomama(otherwise known as drew&tiffany): OK. I just would have been dead without the two of you fixing, installing, running to Lowes, Michaels, and whereever I felt like sending you. Thank you for installing my new screen door, and for loading, unloading, setting up, setting down, making dip, getting it the perfect shade of purple, wearing an apron, giving birth to deep lunges and unitards so I can read her fantabulous blog, taking me to dinner, protecting my feet OVER and OVER by telling me to sit, wiping up, keeping the crowd happy, smiling at a party where you only knew family, bringing me ice water etc. etc. etc. I could go on and on and on but others would think she's exaggerating no one is that fantastic. I'm here to tell you. Tgar and yomama(otherwise known as drew&tiffany) are just that fantastic. Thank you, and I owe you money.

PS I tried I tried and I tried. I tried to upload pretty pictures of cupcakes and italian sodas and aprons and people painting and arnold swartsenegger's bare muscley chest to symbolize people lifting things, and watermelon, way too much watermelon, but I keep getting the no go from blogspot. There are ERRORS. Thanks for the help blogspot. And that wasn't a real thanks, blogspot, like the one I just gave to all the workers at the party, it was a fake and empty thanks, full of sarcasm and bile. Nasty bitter bile. I mean give me a measly purple flower picture already. This is the ugliest post in the history of this freaking blog all because of YOU blogspot. I'm not saying the word blogspot for 24 hours in protest. You stink. From now on you are known as stinkspot.

Correction

6 sweet sweet babes

Schneebes: October, Larssa: January, Jeneesha: December

WhatEVER

Have you ever been walking from Walmart the store to Walmart the parking lot and you're walking along in your two Frankenstein boots very very slowly because you are 99.99% certain that your other foot broke earlier today when you were going down the stairs to retrieve your boots that you left there last night after watching 20/20 and you're walking to your car, again in the Walmart Parking lot and one of the bags breaks and your newly purchased toilet seat goes hurdling in a skidding fashion across the parking lot and rests about 20 feet away from you and you have to hobble hobble hobble over to it and you find yourself bending down in the Walmart Parking lot to pick up a shrink wrapped toilet seat that was on sale for $18.89 and you seriously consider acting like it's not yours and you think you might hear someone snickering and then you think to yourself does it get any more ghetto than this and then you pick it up but you don't check it for scratches because who holds their new toilet seat up in the Walmart Parking lot and checks it out?

You have? Really?

We live in a parallel universe just so you know.

Marital Disfunction and the Birth or Our Nation

I didn't classify myself as an overprotective mother, in fact, many a time I would stop myself from doing so because I knew it would hurt the kids instead of protect them.

However I used to really really dread the fourth of July. I would always find myself with one foot in the world of doing what was good for the kids and the other foot was in the world of doing what was good for me.

I was afraid my kids would burn to a crisp. Actually I KNEW they would burn to a crisp. I used to think: Who thought up this piro holiday anyway? A day where kids are allowed to play with fire? We tell them 364 days a year to stay away from matches and flame and fire and candles and then boom on the 4th of July we say have at it I hope you don't have to be hospitalized??? As a person who walked in the valley of the shadow of death to bring those 4 people into this world, I just didn't get that. No logic. No sense.

Whenever I would hear sirens roaring on the fourth, I absolutely knew a child had lit someone on fire. I used to take my kids down to the firework shack and buy them a $1.50's worth of things that could burn and hurt them. I would mentally berate myself. It went against the grain. They used to beg me for more. I would pull out a speech an hour long about how burning fireworks was like rolling up a dollar bill and lighting it on fire. I made them buy anything over a dollar fifty with their own money because I didn't want them burned. Mother is a kill joy they would mutter. Then Tim would stop at Walmart on the way home from work and come bounding in with a big ol' box of fireworks. It was really the only thing I can remember that we weren't together on. That is because Tim knew I was being a moron and there was no helping me.

The kids would light those flowers that bounced around in all directions that you couldn't control. I would stand on the sidewalk with teeth clenched and shoulders tight, thinking: Don't hop on my child don't hop on my child. Don't hop on me. I sort of didn't care if they hopped on Tim. JUST KIDDING. OK. Kind of kidding kind of not. Anyway, how in the heck were those things legal??? Tim would run around laughing and hopping and lighting and whooping it up. Careless Man.

They would light those whistling petes and I would stand on the front porch with my fingers in my ears, praying for firework time to be over. They would light sparklers and all they could hear the whole time they were whirling around with them was: "Don'ttouchthesparklerwhenitgoesoutoryouburnyourfingersoffandyouneedyourfingers" Repeated three times. Tim would talk to the neighbors who would tell him that the boys had all blown up action figures with whistling petes earlier that day. He would burst with pride. I would begin to shake.

When I was a child, I touched the sparkler wire. Obviously there is deep seeded trauma in my psyche because I remember crying myself to sleep with an ice cube strapped to my hand. I have been hauling around some major firework baggage for 53 years.

I am ashamed to admit that today on the phone I told Gracie not to touch the sparkler when it goes out or you will burn your fingers off and you need your fingers. I don't even think they make those kind of sparklers anymore. I don't know why I did it. I was compelled and I couldn't stop myself. She just kept saying Oh. Oh. Oh.

Jakers, if your 4 year old starts to cry and run away during firework time, it is because you need to hide her from her Grammy. Who is deranged.

PS. I would be happy if you watched the neighbors light sparklers through the living room window. Think about this viable option.