Fireworks

The conference center had fireworks in celebration of the 4th of July. We walked to the other side of the small lake to watch them. Daughter quickly grew bored with the fireworks. We hadn’t taken chairs, and the ground was wet, so we were standing. Every so often she’d come over and lean on me and tell me she was tired and ask if she could go back and go to bed. I knew she wouldn’t be able to find her way back alone, and I wasn’t leaving, so I kept telling her no.

Finally, frustrated with the constant whining, I informed her that every time she complained I was going to make her stay up another 5 minutes when we got back.

“You can’t make me stay awake! That only works with hiking.” (The rule when we go for a hike is that every time she complains I add another mile to the hike.)

A friend said, “I’ll give her a sharp stick to poke you.”

I simply said, “Try me.”

She was standing behind me, so I don’t know what she did, but a friend said, “I saw that. It’s not that dark, and I can still see what you are doing.”

I told her it was probably a good thing I hadn’t seen whatever it was, and she’d best hope I didn’t get the eyes in the back of my head working.

She watched the rest of the fireworks without complaining. When we headed back around the lake, she quickly ran ahead of me. She paused and said, “We have to get back, Mom, there’s going to be music and singing tonight.”

“I thought you were tired and needed to go to bed.”

“I was just tired of the fireworks, Mom.” I guess she can tell the truth—eventually.