This one's for you, random person who reads my blog but doesn't tell me because you think it would be awkward since we haven't talked in so long or I don't know you at all.
Blogger has this new thing that tells you how many people view your blog. According to me, I have four blog followers (Hi Mom, Sarah, Elle, and Bri!! Oh, and occasionally Jake!). According to this weird tracker thing, way more people look at it than what I think. It also shows a map of where my views come from, and it said that a couple came from as far away as Malaysia! Whoa!
So obviously I knew this tracker thing was bunk. Who in Malaysia would randomly stumble upon my blog? And how come, post after post, I have no comments on anything? So obviously no one reads this (or so I thought). I keep writing, though, because I write for the same reason that I breathe: I just have to.
I appreciated the weird vanity tracking thing that blogger was doing, telling me that people read this, but I wished for a more accurate number. How is it possible that thirty people read a single post when I only know of four? I decided to dismiss my concerns and just keep writing, because really - who cares who reads it?
My blogger world was shattered one day a few weeks ago when I was having lunch with my friend Betsy. I'm in her wedding this upcoming October, so we were doing some planning. As we were eating she got a call from her Maid of Honor. Her Maid of Honor is named Sarah (though not the same Sarah that openly follows my blog). I was on middle school drama team with this Sarah, but I literally don't think I've seen her since I was thirteen. I had no clue what she wanted when Betsy handed over the phone and said, "Sarah wants to talk to you..."
She started the conversation by saying, "Hi Christine. It's Sarah. I have a confession to make."A confession? How could she have done something that has been on her conscience for the past ten years? Did she put something gross in my juice once at a drama team meeting? Did she make funny faces behind my back while I was performing? Did she spread some crazy rumor about me?
I didn't have to wonder for too long. She continued: "Here's the thing: I totally read your blog. Like, every post. So I pretty much know everything going on in your life even though I haven't seen you in forever. I've actually been out of the country for the past few years. I was in Malaysia. I showed your blog to some of my friends over there, so they read it too. I've been feeling creepy so I guessed it was time to confess."I wanted to scream: YOU'RE THE MALAYSIA FOLLOWER! BLOGGER WAS TELLING THE TRUTH!!!! But obviously I didn't do that because 1. that's weird and 2. we were in public. So actually I just said that I was glad she read it because that means that someone does.
Then I started wondering, though....is it possible that THIRTY people actually read this blog?! And I only know four of them?! I decided that I am going to let myself think so. After all, blogger was right on the Malaysia thing. So thank you, you twenty-six to thirty-five (depending on the post) readers who I don't know. I'm glad you read my blog. I don't think it's creepy. I'm really glad that someone actually chooses to read this, and if you continually choose to read it then that's probably because you enjoy it, which is even better! Thanks for the virtual ego boost, because even if you don't tell me that you're reading, blogger does. :-) Creepy, huh?
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Elvis on Cooking
Elvis has asked if he can write a post in this blog. I said okay. Here it is. He wrote it while I was cooking lunch:
My mom is cooking again! Hooray! I love when she cooks because sometimes she drops stuff of the ground and then I get to eat it. YUM!
Today she is cooking...hmmm...something meaty smelling. I LOVE MEAT. I will sit here next to where she is standing by the stove and put on my cutest face, where I open my eyes real wide and tip my head just a little bit. Maybe she will share her food.
She's looking at me, but she's not giving me any meat. Why isn't my cute face working? I add a small whimper for effect to say, "Look at me, I'm sooooo hungry." Mom claims that I can't be that hungry, as I've just eaten dog food. I say that you don't have to be that hungry to want some meat. I'm full of dog food, but I'm starving for meat!
She's still mixing the beefy stuff in one skillet, but wait! She's doing something else! She's taking a pot of water over to the sink.... I follow, obviously. She drains the water and takes something out of the pot. She starts chopping it on her chopping board. I get a good whiff of what it is...
POTATOES! I FREAKING LOVE POTATOES! I must have some.
I try the cute face again, but to no avail. Mom claims that last time she let me have people food I puked, so she's not going to share any more. That is so unfair! I did not puke because of the food she gave me; I puked because of the bug I ate while we were on a walk. She doesn't believe me, though, so I need to resort to another method of securing potatoes.
I muster up some energy and try to jump up onto the counter. Unfortunately, I'm too short. When I jump as high as I can, I can barely get my face over the counter for half a second before I fall back down to the ground again. I start jumping in rapid succession, thinking that maybe if I jump multiple times I will be able to get higher and higher. Every time my face goes over the counter, I see the potatoes! My ultimate prize! Here is my thought process:
(jump)
HOORAY! POTATOES!
(fall)
Crap. I'm too short.
(jump)
YES! POTATOES!
(fall)
Blast. Not quite tall enough.
(jump)
THEY LOOK SO DELICIOUS!
(fall)
Dang. Missed em again.
My mom is happily chopping away, taking no pity on my potato plight. Finally I muster all my strength, jump as high as I can, and stick my tongue out at the same time. When my face is above the plane of the counter, my long tongue finally scrapes one of the potatoes. What JOY! What HAPPINESS! The taste of potato is in my mouth. I must have more. I brace myself to jump again but am taken aback by Mom screaming, "Ewwwww! ELVIS! You licked that potato! NASTY! Now I can't use that one. That is disgusting. Here, you can have it."
She throws that chunk of potato on the floor! HOOOOOORAY! I gobble it up all too quickly and resume my jumping mission to try to lick another potato so that she will give it to me. Instead, she locks me in my kennel and isn't letting me help her cook anymore. Life is unfair.
My mom is cooking again! Hooray! I love when she cooks because sometimes she drops stuff of the ground and then I get to eat it. YUM!
Today she is cooking...hmmm...something meaty smelling. I LOVE MEAT. I will sit here next to where she is standing by the stove and put on my cutest face, where I open my eyes real wide and tip my head just a little bit. Maybe she will share her food.
She's looking at me, but she's not giving me any meat. Why isn't my cute face working? I add a small whimper for effect to say, "Look at me, I'm sooooo hungry." Mom claims that I can't be that hungry, as I've just eaten dog food. I say that you don't have to be that hungry to want some meat. I'm full of dog food, but I'm starving for meat!
She's still mixing the beefy stuff in one skillet, but wait! She's doing something else! She's taking a pot of water over to the sink.... I follow, obviously. She drains the water and takes something out of the pot. She starts chopping it on her chopping board. I get a good whiff of what it is...
POTATOES! I FREAKING LOVE POTATOES! I must have some.
I try the cute face again, but to no avail. Mom claims that last time she let me have people food I puked, so she's not going to share any more. That is so unfair! I did not puke because of the food she gave me; I puked because of the bug I ate while we were on a walk. She doesn't believe me, though, so I need to resort to another method of securing potatoes.
I muster up some energy and try to jump up onto the counter. Unfortunately, I'm too short. When I jump as high as I can, I can barely get my face over the counter for half a second before I fall back down to the ground again. I start jumping in rapid succession, thinking that maybe if I jump multiple times I will be able to get higher and higher. Every time my face goes over the counter, I see the potatoes! My ultimate prize! Here is my thought process:
(jump)
HOORAY! POTATOES!
(fall)
Crap. I'm too short.
(jump)
YES! POTATOES!
(fall)
Blast. Not quite tall enough.
(jump)
THEY LOOK SO DELICIOUS!
(fall)
Dang. Missed em again.
My mom is happily chopping away, taking no pity on my potato plight. Finally I muster all my strength, jump as high as I can, and stick my tongue out at the same time. When my face is above the plane of the counter, my long tongue finally scrapes one of the potatoes. What JOY! What HAPPINESS! The taste of potato is in my mouth. I must have more. I brace myself to jump again but am taken aback by Mom screaming, "Ewwwww! ELVIS! You licked that potato! NASTY! Now I can't use that one. That is disgusting. Here, you can have it."
She throws that chunk of potato on the floor! HOOOOOORAY! I gobble it up all too quickly and resume my jumping mission to try to lick another potato so that she will give it to me. Instead, she locks me in my kennel and isn't letting me help her cook anymore. Life is unfair.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Errands Part 2: Winco
This post is going to be short, but this experience was still noteworthy:
Just as we finished our weekly grocery shopping expedition, Rex decided to stop for a moment and look at the alcohol. He was looking, not buying, but still. I immediately stopped the cart and exclaimed, "No! I will not support you in your Jack Daniels obsession!" This drew an odd look from the lady working. To a normal person, that would mean "Be quiet." To me, that meant, "Look, an audience!"
Let me add, by the way, that I can count on one hand the amount of times Rex or I have bought liquor. It just doesn't happen. We're not big drinkers. I mean, everyone loves college football with a little pizza and beer, but other than that we stick to water and juice.
Anyway, I continued. "Rex, you have a PROBLEM. You need to stop. I can't take it any more."
Rex looked at me, very confused, and chuckled. "Are you telling me that I'm an alcoholic?"
Perfect opening, Rex. You shouldn't have given it to me. Here is an approximation of the speech that followed:
"Rex, PLEASE! Think of the FAMILY! I just can't take this any more. You spend all of your money on expensive alcohol. I need to buy shampoo and toilet paper! What about Elvis? We're not going to be able to afford his kibble any more, and he's going to have to survive on only water and Jim Beam! I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS!" (at this point I started adding in some sobs for effect). "Walk away, Rex. JUST WALK AWAY!"
He walked away, and we bought no alcohol. A true victory for all alcoholics. Well, actually, more of a victory for non-alcoholics-whose-wife-pretends-they're-alcoholics-because-it-makes-grocery-shopping-more-interesting. You know, whichever, depending on the way you look at it.
Just as we finished our weekly grocery shopping expedition, Rex decided to stop for a moment and look at the alcohol. He was looking, not buying, but still. I immediately stopped the cart and exclaimed, "No! I will not support you in your Jack Daniels obsession!" This drew an odd look from the lady working. To a normal person, that would mean "Be quiet." To me, that meant, "Look, an audience!"
Let me add, by the way, that I can count on one hand the amount of times Rex or I have bought liquor. It just doesn't happen. We're not big drinkers. I mean, everyone loves college football with a little pizza and beer, but other than that we stick to water and juice.
Anyway, I continued. "Rex, you have a PROBLEM. You need to stop. I can't take it any more."
Rex looked at me, very confused, and chuckled. "Are you telling me that I'm an alcoholic?"
Perfect opening, Rex. You shouldn't have given it to me. Here is an approximation of the speech that followed:
"Rex, PLEASE! Think of the FAMILY! I just can't take this any more. You spend all of your money on expensive alcohol. I need to buy shampoo and toilet paper! What about Elvis? We're not going to be able to afford his kibble any more, and he's going to have to survive on only water and Jim Beam! I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS!" (at this point I started adding in some sobs for effect). "Walk away, Rex. JUST WALK AWAY!"
He walked away, and we bought no alcohol. A true victory for all alcoholics. Well, actually, more of a victory for non-alcoholics-whose-wife-pretends-they're-alcoholics-because-it-makes-grocery-shopping-more-interesting. You know, whichever, depending on the way you look at it.
Errands Part 1: Pep Boys
Wait...how old did you say Rex and I are? Twenty-three? Oooooooh... sorry, I must have misunderstood. I thought we were three.
At least that's how we were acting in Pep Boys today. Did you ever notice that auto parts shops never have anything fun to do? You have to sit there forever waiting for your car to be worked on, and they offer no sort of entertainment. I want to bring in a Nintendo and start charging people to use it. This is how I will make my millions. I would pay a lot for a little Super Mario when I'm bored out of my mind, wouldn't you?
No one caught onto the Nintendo idea yet, so Rex and I were left with nothing to do. We wandered around the store looking at various tires, speakers, and other car things that I know nothing about, and then suddenly I saw them right in front of me: a whole display of HOT WHEELS.
"Rex, pick your car," I commanded. "We're Hot Wheels racing until our real car is ready."
We spent a fair amount of time picking out the perfect cars. I finally chose mine, and Rex said, "Wow, the Aston Martin! Cool!" Yeah... I chose it because it was the only turquoise one and I thought it looked pretty, but don't tell Rex. He thought I chose it for the speed and finesse associated with that type of luxury vehicle. Um, okay. He chose a lime colored car. Chevelle, maybe? If you're reading this blog to learn about cars, you've found the wrong site. Move along.
So Rex and I went to the checkout counter and paid for our cars so we could rip them out of the packaging. Yay! Before we started racing, I told Rex that he had to name his race car. I named mine "Turbo Teal," which is an awesome name for a fast car. Rex named his "Rocco," which sounds like the name of a fast chihuahua. Take a look!
Rex and I found the most deserted aisles and raced our cars down them. We tried to race them outside, but the sidewalk cracks kept stopping our races. We raced the cars around the inside of full sized tires, which actually made a very nice race track. We finally decided to continue with aisle racing (it was the easiest), but Rocco took a bad turn and ended up underneath one of the aisles! Aaaaaaaah! ROCCO! COME BACK! Rex and I tried to retrieve Rocco, but it was no use. Rex told me to hand him the hammer that was displayed in that aisle, because he was somehow going to use that to get his car back (don't ask me how; I'm not sure that I want to know). Before he could use the hammer, one of the sales associates walked up to us and said, "Ummm...did you guys lose something?" Only then did I realize how ridiculous we looked, lying on our stomachs and staring earnestly underneath a hammer display.
I tried (in vain) to rectify the situation: "No, we didn't! I mean, yes, we did lose something, but it's really no big deal. We'll just be moving along..." The sales associate looked confused. "We can pull out the floor of the display for you...." I tried to assure him that we were fine, but I guess he took the idea of "friendly service" pretty seriously. WE REMOVED THE BOTTOM OF A STORE AISLE TO RETRIEVE A TOY CAR! I have never been so embarrassed in my whole life. Actually, that's a total lie. I'm sure I have been. But I will tell you - the rescue mission for Rocco was not one of my finest moments. The Pep Boys employee gave us a strange look, as if to say, "Would you like to explain why there was a toy car under this aisle, and why we went through all of this trouble to retrieve it?" But I just pretended like nothing was weird at all and said, "Come on, Rex, we'd better go," before sauntering back outside.
I am SO not going with him next time we need an oil change.
At least that's how we were acting in Pep Boys today. Did you ever notice that auto parts shops never have anything fun to do? You have to sit there forever waiting for your car to be worked on, and they offer no sort of entertainment. I want to bring in a Nintendo and start charging people to use it. This is how I will make my millions. I would pay a lot for a little Super Mario when I'm bored out of my mind, wouldn't you?
No one caught onto the Nintendo idea yet, so Rex and I were left with nothing to do. We wandered around the store looking at various tires, speakers, and other car things that I know nothing about, and then suddenly I saw them right in front of me: a whole display of HOT WHEELS.
"Rex, pick your car," I commanded. "We're Hot Wheels racing until our real car is ready."
We spent a fair amount of time picking out the perfect cars. I finally chose mine, and Rex said, "Wow, the Aston Martin! Cool!" Yeah... I chose it because it was the only turquoise one and I thought it looked pretty, but don't tell Rex. He thought I chose it for the speed and finesse associated with that type of luxury vehicle. Um, okay. He chose a lime colored car. Chevelle, maybe? If you're reading this blog to learn about cars, you've found the wrong site. Move along.
So Rex and I went to the checkout counter and paid for our cars so we could rip them out of the packaging. Yay! Before we started racing, I told Rex that he had to name his race car. I named mine "Turbo Teal," which is an awesome name for a fast car. Rex named his "Rocco," which sounds like the name of a fast chihuahua. Take a look!
Rex and I found the most deserted aisles and raced our cars down them. We tried to race them outside, but the sidewalk cracks kept stopping our races. We raced the cars around the inside of full sized tires, which actually made a very nice race track. We finally decided to continue with aisle racing (it was the easiest), but Rocco took a bad turn and ended up underneath one of the aisles! Aaaaaaaah! ROCCO! COME BACK! Rex and I tried to retrieve Rocco, but it was no use. Rex told me to hand him the hammer that was displayed in that aisle, because he was somehow going to use that to get his car back (don't ask me how; I'm not sure that I want to know). Before he could use the hammer, one of the sales associates walked up to us and said, "Ummm...did you guys lose something?" Only then did I realize how ridiculous we looked, lying on our stomachs and staring earnestly underneath a hammer display.
I tried (in vain) to rectify the situation: "No, we didn't! I mean, yes, we did lose something, but it's really no big deal. We'll just be moving along..." The sales associate looked confused. "We can pull out the floor of the display for you...." I tried to assure him that we were fine, but I guess he took the idea of "friendly service" pretty seriously. WE REMOVED THE BOTTOM OF A STORE AISLE TO RETRIEVE A TOY CAR! I have never been so embarrassed in my whole life. Actually, that's a total lie. I'm sure I have been. But I will tell you - the rescue mission for Rocco was not one of my finest moments. The Pep Boys employee gave us a strange look, as if to say, "Would you like to explain why there was a toy car under this aisle, and why we went through all of this trouble to retrieve it?" But I just pretended like nothing was weird at all and said, "Come on, Rex, we'd better go," before sauntering back outside.
I am SO not going with him next time we need an oil change.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Attack of the Killer Fireworks
Hello Blog Friends,
Sorry I've been gone for a while. I've had a really crazy past month. Here's how I spent the last four weeks:
Week 1: Big Bear Lake hiking trip with my husband and dog.
Weeks 2 and 3: Home to Michigan to spend some time with family and friends.
Week 4: Had a "staycation" in Las Vegas because our friends Josh and Charissa came out and we got to show them all around.
Wait a second - when you see a blog post title such as "Attack of the Killer Fireworks," I suppose you didn't click on this link to read about what I've been doing for the past few weeks, now did you? You clicked because you want to read about killer fireworks! Okay, here we go:
The Fourth of July is always fun in Las Vegas. The city of Henderson (which is where Rex and I live...it's right next to Vegas) puts on a free fireworks show every year. Thousands of people attend - it's really fun! Rex and I went last year and were excited about taking our friends Josh and Charissa with us this year. After a delicious and patriotic barbeque (we had blueberry/strawberry shortcake with whipped cream for dessert - red, white, and blue!), we headed down to the park to watch the fireworks.
We staked out a good spot in the grass where we could sit and watch the fireworks. We were a bit early, so we sat and talked for a while. It was pretty normal other than the frantic search of a mom looking for her five-year-old named Candance (she found her) and the disturbing-ness of watching a couple of forty-somethings rolling around making out on the blanket next to ours (um, EW).
Finally the fireworks started - hooray! They were huge! I leaned in to Rex and said, "They look like they're right over our heads and super close! Wow!" Rex leaned back to me and said, "Umm...I think that is because they are." I got my first inkling that something was wrong when one of those sparkly willow tree looking fireworks sent a shower of sparks toward the earth that went out a little too close for comfort. We were showered with ashes.
It all went down hill from there. The fireworks kept exploding closer and closer to the ground until the sparks started hitting the ground while they were still burning. Some fireworks only partially exploded, and then the fireballs would smash into the ground like some sort of patriotic apocalypse. People started running around and screaming. A mom grabbed her two children and sprinted away, leaving all of their stuff in the park. Rex gave me his hat to try to shield my eyes, saying that his glasses would keep his eyes safe. I really wanted to watch the fireworks, but I think I spent more time watching the burning embers fall and trying to dodge them. A kid sitting behind me got hit. He screamed, "Ahhhh! It BURNS!" and ran over to his mom to get ice.
At this point I was getting nervous. I thought maybe we should go. I turned to express this sentiment to Rex, but the excitement in his eyes glowed brighter than the embers. He exclaimed, "This is the best fireworks show EVER!" I smiled weakly and replied, "...but it's kind of dangerous..." Rex either didn't catch my trepidation or didn't care, because he said, "I KNOW! HENCE THE FUN!"
A piece of flaming firework landed behind Charissa. Josh was looking out for her and pushed her forward so that it wouldn't hit her, and then he put it out when it hit the grass so that it wouldn't start a fire. While he was doing that, another piece landed in Charissa's hair. Luckily that one wasn't on fire, but when she picked it out, the clump of ash was probably as wide as a golf ball.
A man to our right had a cloth cooler on his blanket. A semi-exploded firework hurdled towards his blanket and landed on top of his cooler. It was all flame-y and looked as if the man had spontaneously started a campfire on top of his cooler. At first he looked very startled, then he looked around as if he didn't know what to do. It was almost like he was waiting for a firetruck to rumble through the thousands of people and put out his flaming cooler. When he realized that no firetrucks were coming, he turned and attacked his cooler with his shoe to put out the fire. Luckily, he was successful. I'm not sure how the cooler fared, but alas. We can count it among the casualties of the firework attack.
The fireworks FINALLY ended after around a half an hour of terror. I looked around and saw lots of people hiding under the blankets they brought to sit on. They peeked out apprehensively as if to say, "Is it really over? Have we survived? Can we go home now?" Moms hugged their children to celebrate that they were finally safe. Friends checked each other for bits of ash and embers. Rex turned to me and said, "Okay, that was AWESOME!" What a weirdo.
Anyway, I'm glad we survived the Henderson fireworks of 2012. I hope for the Fourth of July in 2013 we will be safely back at McCamley Field in Portage, where the fireworks never attack anyone.
Sorry I've been gone for a while. I've had a really crazy past month. Here's how I spent the last four weeks:
Week 1: Big Bear Lake hiking trip with my husband and dog.
Weeks 2 and 3: Home to Michigan to spend some time with family and friends.
Week 4: Had a "staycation" in Las Vegas because our friends Josh and Charissa came out and we got to show them all around.
Wait a second - when you see a blog post title such as "Attack of the Killer Fireworks," I suppose you didn't click on this link to read about what I've been doing for the past few weeks, now did you? You clicked because you want to read about killer fireworks! Okay, here we go:
The Fourth of July is always fun in Las Vegas. The city of Henderson (which is where Rex and I live...it's right next to Vegas) puts on a free fireworks show every year. Thousands of people attend - it's really fun! Rex and I went last year and were excited about taking our friends Josh and Charissa with us this year. After a delicious and patriotic barbeque (we had blueberry/strawberry shortcake with whipped cream for dessert - red, white, and blue!), we headed down to the park to watch the fireworks.
We staked out a good spot in the grass where we could sit and watch the fireworks. We were a bit early, so we sat and talked for a while. It was pretty normal other than the frantic search of a mom looking for her five-year-old named Candance (she found her) and the disturbing-ness of watching a couple of forty-somethings rolling around making out on the blanket next to ours (um, EW).
Finally the fireworks started - hooray! They were huge! I leaned in to Rex and said, "They look like they're right over our heads and super close! Wow!" Rex leaned back to me and said, "Umm...I think that is because they are." I got my first inkling that something was wrong when one of those sparkly willow tree looking fireworks sent a shower of sparks toward the earth that went out a little too close for comfort. We were showered with ashes.
It all went down hill from there. The fireworks kept exploding closer and closer to the ground until the sparks started hitting the ground while they were still burning. Some fireworks only partially exploded, and then the fireballs would smash into the ground like some sort of patriotic apocalypse. People started running around and screaming. A mom grabbed her two children and sprinted away, leaving all of their stuff in the park. Rex gave me his hat to try to shield my eyes, saying that his glasses would keep his eyes safe. I really wanted to watch the fireworks, but I think I spent more time watching the burning embers fall and trying to dodge them. A kid sitting behind me got hit. He screamed, "Ahhhh! It BURNS!" and ran over to his mom to get ice.
At this point I was getting nervous. I thought maybe we should go. I turned to express this sentiment to Rex, but the excitement in his eyes glowed brighter than the embers. He exclaimed, "This is the best fireworks show EVER!" I smiled weakly and replied, "...but it's kind of dangerous..." Rex either didn't catch my trepidation or didn't care, because he said, "I KNOW! HENCE THE FUN!"
A piece of flaming firework landed behind Charissa. Josh was looking out for her and pushed her forward so that it wouldn't hit her, and then he put it out when it hit the grass so that it wouldn't start a fire. While he was doing that, another piece landed in Charissa's hair. Luckily that one wasn't on fire, but when she picked it out, the clump of ash was probably as wide as a golf ball.
A man to our right had a cloth cooler on his blanket. A semi-exploded firework hurdled towards his blanket and landed on top of his cooler. It was all flame-y and looked as if the man had spontaneously started a campfire on top of his cooler. At first he looked very startled, then he looked around as if he didn't know what to do. It was almost like he was waiting for a firetruck to rumble through the thousands of people and put out his flaming cooler. When he realized that no firetrucks were coming, he turned and attacked his cooler with his shoe to put out the fire. Luckily, he was successful. I'm not sure how the cooler fared, but alas. We can count it among the casualties of the firework attack.
The fireworks FINALLY ended after around a half an hour of terror. I looked around and saw lots of people hiding under the blankets they brought to sit on. They peeked out apprehensively as if to say, "Is it really over? Have we survived? Can we go home now?" Moms hugged their children to celebrate that they were finally safe. Friends checked each other for bits of ash and embers. Rex turned to me and said, "Okay, that was AWESOME!" What a weirdo.
Anyway, I'm glad we survived the Henderson fireworks of 2012. I hope for the Fourth of July in 2013 we will be safely back at McCamley Field in Portage, where the fireworks never attack anyone.
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