How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

Our Fourth of July started with errands. Spouse, Kibi and I went to our neighborhood watering hole (Starbucks) and then the grocery store in the morning to get supplies for our afternoon picnic.

After the grocery store, we spied a roadside stand proclaiming FIREWORKS in huge letters. My husband practically skidded to a halt. "We have to get some fireworks for tonight!"

Now, I don't make a practice of being a party pooper, but buying fireworks was not on my list of priorities for the day, especially because the person I thought would get the biggest kick out of them - my son - would be in bed by 7:30, God willing. Way before it got dark.

Anyway, I acquiesced and we stopped at the fireworks stand. As we pulled in and walked up to the stand, Spouse told me about how he had longed for the permission to let off his own firecrackers as a kid, and I realized we were into Childhood Fantasy Fulfillment. So, no biggie. Kibi and I entertained ourselves looking at all the traffic along Lee Highway while my husband made his purchases. I imagined he'd be back with a couple little sparklers (even I could enjoy those!) and we'd be on our way.

Weeeeellll.... imagine my surprise when he walked back toward us with a 2' by 5' (yes, that's 2X5 FEET, people) PACKAGE OF FIREWORKS. I'm not talking a coupla boxes of caps or sparklers, I'm talking a SUPER DELUXE GIFT BOX OF EVERY SORT OF EXPLOSIVE you could imagine. The package barely fit in the back of our station wagon.

I asked him how much this crate of firecrackers cost us and he quoted me a figure that I can't repeat for fear of the scorn and ridicule that would undoubtedly result, especially in these dismal economic times.

I kept my head down as we pulled into our driveway lest the neighbors see what I allowed my husband to purchase. I imagined typical conversations whispered behind doors: "What in the world are they doing with all those explosives? Talk about dangerous! And to think that they have a 1 year old! What do they think this is, Waco?"

Well, as it turned out, it rained most of the day on Friday so all my husband was able to do was let off a couple of bottle rockets (I don't think this is the actual term; I'm no explosives expert and am therefore winging it) before dark, which of course made Kibi cry because they were way too loud.

So now we have a huge arsenal of explosives in our garage. I'm just waiting for the junk pile in there to ignite them all on one of those horrendously hot D.C. summer days... and blow up the entire house.