It was Victoria Day yesterday (that's a Canadian holiday, for my American readers) a holiday on which people who don't have kids go to a cottage and get drunk and people who do have kids stay home, do a lot of gardening, and have fireworks in the evening. Guess which celebratory camp I fall into.
My Dad brought over a box of excitement in the form of cardboard and gunpowder. We had a little bonfire and a LOT of marshmallows. (peanut free, gluten free, dairy free, and so, so full of sugar) And then we shot off all the fireworks. And then we busted out the sparklers. I did not think to haul out the camera until it was sparkeler time, but I'm glad that I did.
I'm trying to remember if this was the Little Guy's first time with a sparkler. If there was a previous time I would have been last year, which is basically a lifetime ago when you are three. In any case this was his first time with a sparkler as a three-year-old, so that's something.
Sparklers are this crazy, weird, dangerous thing that we all seem to love. Its so counter-intuitive. "here, treasured child of my heart, here's a burning stick for you to hold while you run around in the dark." An odd exception in this world where we cut grapes in half and never even let them on a tricycle without a helmet. Its weird that they still exist. Not that I want them banned. It feels like a little bit of safe danger, if you know what I mean. Anyhow, the guy selling fireworks by the side of the road told my Dad that this may be the last year they sell them. So we bought two packs.
They sure make for some awesome photos. A fun time was had by all, and we stayed up two whole hours past their bedtime, much to their delight. Though BOY did we pay for that late night today. Everyone was very tired and VERY touchy. At least I got some good pictures of all the fun and happiness which I could refer to when everyone was loosing it today.