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One.

Fireworks are that mythical, magical experience that you might try to record with your cell phone but it a) doesn’t do it justice and b) won’t ever be viewed again. Fireworks were around me for three days before the fourth and then three days after, as aerial fireworks are legal in these here parts, so Black Cat stands are in every supermarket and gas station parking lot. Within a two-mile radius of the heart of North Ogden, I’d bet more than a dozen stands exist to get your money in exchange for an overpriced Roman candle. 

As for a city show, we got two for some reason and they both were pretty sweet. The first was a grand finale-paced extravaganza for 20 minutes with multiple booms, oohs, and ahhhs, going off nearly every second to make the adrenaline pace to the speed of a NASCAR race. It had a mix of colors – red, purple, green, the glittering gold – and the explosions with the secondhand explosions or the twirly ones, but it was the noisy ones that my crew loved the most. You know the ones that screech? Think that, but slightly off-key. I kept picturing being in Luigi’s Mansion and the ghosts he is so scared of keep whooshing by and haunting the green-hat friend with a deep-voiced oooh. These were recurring, with the oooh echoing over and over and over again with each new blast into the air. Then, they’d snake into the sky and sprint towards the heavens, like Luigi racing away from the frights in the night. Shot to the air, the oooh noise as the firework races and that’s happening five at a time and then repeat the cycle for some more.

As one hit the skyline, a little kid with us exclaimed, “Man, that firework was screaming!” Drunk on food truck treats and staying up past bedtime, coupled with the thrill of the night and a day full of constant funtivities, another little kid innocently squeaked out, “Your mom was screaming.”

It was the best your mom joke I might have heard. 

Two. 

If there is anything more magical than fireworks, it has to be backyard sprinklers in the summertime. When was the last time you shimmied off your shorts and ripped your top off to go run around on a hot day in your underwear? Hopefully, it has been a while for you, but it’s a weekly occurrence for my kids.

Taking it to the next level, this year the kids have been riding the 24V battery-powered jeep on a loop through the yard as the water sprays. My four-year-old is the driver while my seven-year-old rides along. And by rides along, I mean rides atop the roof holding on tightly as the toddler puts it in second gear and brings the speed. 

They’ve done this a million times this summer, but of course, on the million and first, tragedy befell when the turn was too quick and the boy on top slid off to land on the asphalt, nearly head first. He managed an ankle down, then the wrists, before the head struck the road at an angle. A pebble must’ve been sticking up, causing the most perfect pinhole-shaped hole to the depths of his skull. As the blood from the battle wound was wiped away, the teeny, tiny hole remained.

Luckily, stitches weren’t required – just a visit to the Instacare, some special glue, and a good bandage. As for the girl? Her license has been suspended.