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.