Making memories

Yesterday was the 4th of July, and along with the rest of America, we spent the day making memories.

The girls were restless as JBL and I did our chore-type activities in the morning. How much longer? What time will we go? Finally we set off en masse around 3pm for The Grandparents' (I had been worried for a bit that we'd have to take two cars, as JBL had threatened to work most of the day - luckily he blew off some tasks for the occasion) .

JBL's dad and stepmom's house is the de facto destination for many holidays, partly because my mother-in-law loves traditions and formal celebrations, and partly because they have a POOL. We'd had a brief respite last week from the heat, but it came back strong yesterday, with temperatures in the mid-90s. Thus a pool, along with a convivial meal, was just the ticket.

We spent the afternoon and evening enjoying our favorite activities. J: swimming, singing, playing, eating; K: napping, listening to her music on her iTouch, being quiet; JBL and I: lounging, chatting, partaking in festive adult beverages.

There was also the usual compendium of 4th-of-July treats: sparklers, cold fresh watermelon, A Capital Fourth on TV. But I was focused on the sparklers. J had never really experienced them before, and I wanted to see her expression holding onto...well...fire. I have such vivid memories of steamy evenings in July, running barefoot across my parents' soft grass with the gathering dusk and lightning bugs, clutching a crackling sparkler in my fist. I can remember distinctly the smell, the feel of the occasional spark kissing my wrist. There was magic in the light, the fire that I could make dance. I wanted J to experience all of this.

And so I encouraged her - at first trepidatious, then thrilled - to run through the grass with her sparkler. I had to stop myself, because creating an exact replica of my memory was not as interesting as experiencing it in the present with her. J's big brown eyes stared intently as she stood, and at first she merely watched the progress of the fire moving downwards on its metal stick. Then slowly she waved it around as she had seen her friends do at a recent cookout, and with her gaze, followed its path against a backdrop of lush green trees and deepening blue sky. Her face was still and contemplative. I drank her in, wondering what was going through her ever-active mind.



















I glanced around the back yard then. K had chosen to experiment, lighting one sparkler off another, watching the speed at which they burned against each other. She alternately monitored J's progress, dolling out new mini-torches as needed, and studied her own with solemn, scientific curiosity.



















The rest of the adults stood still, gazing at the kids and their sparklers, their faces masked with a mixture of delight and a knowing pleasure. The girls, after all, are sparklers unto themselves. Everything they do we have done and experienced ourselves, but to see them live it, well...you know. Can words really capture the love we feel when we watch our children? The empathy, the anticipation of inevitable pain and joy. It all rushes over us, and we can't look away. Like staring into a fireplace, all crackling and warm. Like holding onto tiny fireworks even as the sparks kiss our wrists.

The evening proceeded in a blur of grilled chicken, more swimming, citronella candles and music almost drowned-out by tree frogs. As we drove home through the night, I listened to the quiet in the car as I held JBL's hand. I tried to catch a glimpse of late fireworks on the horizon in the direction of the city. I saw only one flowering explosion, silent and distant. I fervently hoped that the clicking of K's texts behind me included happy stories of the day's events. I imagined J dreaming in her carseat of cool swimming pools, green grass and fire under her own control.