Fireworks at my brother John's house is a family tradition. A scary family tradition. My brothers take a giant leap back into teenager-hood when they get around fireworks, and the only thing you can really do is duck.
Here's the fireworks tent where we make our purchases. Fortunately, my brother lives in a county where fireworks are legal. Not that it really seems to matter around here.
The girls are ready for the fireworks to begin, but eating always comes first.
Laurel loves to make this flag cake every year.
After dinner we begin the groundworks: tanks, snakes, smoke bombs, and all that fun stuff. My nephew Xavier, chief fireworks lighter, is following in his Grandpa John's footsteps.
Duncan isn't quite as comfortable around fire as his cousin, but he did enjoy smoke-bomb leaping.
We all did a lot of this. When people all over the neighborhood are setting off fireworks, things get rather noisy!
It was a fabulous evening of celebration and tradition.
We were tired on Sunday after all that excitement and a late night, and the day turned out perfectly. It began raining early in the morning and continued all day.
Perfect for Sunday afternoon naps and sheer sluggishness.