If it has "fire" in the name, there's a pretty good chance I'm a big fan. That is to say, I love fireworks. A lot. The Katy Perry song can go to hell aboard the Britney Spears train (she's on the fast track to hell, or so I hear), but real live fireworks? So. Much. To. Love.
The sparkle factor. The bright colors. The boom. The fire. Have I mentioned that I like fire?
So, how exactly is it that my kid LOATHES all things fire? She's scared of a freakin' scented candle, so it's not hard to believe that she thinks fireworks are made of pure evil.
Unfortunately, this time of year it's next to impossible for Alexis to make it through a night without jumping out of skin, screaming like the cute girl who is the first to die in a horror flick, and grabbing hold of me so tightly that I continuously wonder how it's possible that my arms are still attached to my body. You guys, the kid completely falls apart at the first boom. I plan on holding it against her for the rest of her life, but I've even left after about three seconds of the nightly fireworks show at Disney World because onlookers would have thought that I was stabbing the kid with a knife for as much as she sobbed, cried, and generally freaked out once the fireworks started. It's the ultimate sacrifice, but I actually try to avoid fireworks just so I don't have to deal with a kid trying to fight her way back into my uterus.
Imagine my joy when we settled comfortably into my car as the announcements for the drive-in movie theater started and they mentioned that the township's fireworks show was scheduled to start momentarily. SO MUCH JOY. I've always dreamed of having a kid jump straight up in the air, through the sun roof, and land back in my lap. And it happened! Yay!
Just as Cars 2 started playing on the screen, the fireworks began. As luck would have it, they were being shot off directly behind the drive-in theater screen. The booms echoed through the car, rattling Alexis right to her core. She leaped into my lap, curled up in a ball, and fell to pieces. With her hands over her ears, she sobbed and sobbed, whined and complained, and basically managed to stare a hole in the floor because there was no way in hell she was willing to look up lest some sparkly glowy fire assaulted her eyes.
But it wasn't like we could leave.
I mean, the movie had started. We had paid to see it. We wanted to see it. I figured surely the fireworks would be over after a few minutes and we could all pretend that nothing had ever happened.
No such luck.
For some reason, that particular fireworks show was run by Mr. Wants To Space Things Out. Maybe there was only one person lighting the fuses? And he loves fireworks as much as I do so he would light one, wait for it to go off, and then light the next one? Maybe? All I know is that it takes a long damn time for 40 or so rockets to go off when they are spaaaaaaaaced out.
The scene in our car went a little like this:
Me: "Oooh! Pretty!"
Alexis: "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Me: "That was probably the last one."
Alexis, after slowly moving her hands off of her ears: "Are you sure?"
Fireworks: "KABOOOM!"
Alexis: "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Me: "Ooooh! Pretty! But that was probably the last one."
Alexis, after slowly moving her hands off of her ears: "Are you sure?"
Fireworks: "KABOOOOM!"
Alexis: "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
And that went on for . . . I don't know. An eternity? An eternity and a half? Perhaps longer.
If any neighbors set off fireworks after the 4th of July is over, I'm sending them the bill from having to have a 5-year old removed from my uterus.
(If you think showing Alexis the fun that can be had with a sparkler and a camera, you are as wrong as that backwards "s.")