…but it makes for a good title, no?
Let me begin this post with regret. I wholeheartedly regret that I did not take my trusty notebook with me to watch fireworks last night. Though terrible penmanship + dark night + wiggly excitable child would most certainly have yielded pages upon pages of illegible chicken scratch, I hate that some of The Kidling’s exclamations are now, like the fireworks, smoke in the air.
But all is not lost. Here, for your enjoyment, I present the utterings I remember, courtesy of my frantic writing the instant we returned to the car after the show. I even stole The Kidling’s Hello Kitty notebook to get these written down before I forgot. My audacity knows no bounds.
I’m scared. Will you hold my hand?
That’s my favorite: the one with two colors.
That’s my favorite, too. The one with all the colors.
I know that’s not a witch’s house. I’m telling my mind it is just fireworks.
I bet the fire engineers decide the colors.
I like when you don’t hug me. Then I can concentrate on the fireworks.
How do the fire engineers get them up there?
Can I snuggle up with you?
That droopy one, it looks like a blob!
Is the Natural History Museum open? Why not?
That’s my favorite!
Is this where we listened to music the other day?
That’s your favorite!
Do the fire engineers decide the pitch, too? I mean, like the sounds?
I hope your holiday was 1/100th as exciting as The Kidling’s. Any more, and you might very well have exploded. Cheers!