Bombs bursting in air

I've been accused, on more than one occasion, of being a little over-the-top when it comes to celebrations. Birthdays, Christmas, and any holiday that involves food are big deals, and each has its own traditions that I will work hard to preserve for my family. Breakfast should come with sprinkles if it's your birthday. Christmas festivities begin the moment Thanksgiving ends. And on the Fourth of July, even my (very cranky) daughter gets to get out of bed at 9:30 to go see fireworks.

Abby was too young to appreciate the fireworks last year, but this year she just couldn't get enough of them. After being pulled from her crib just an hour and a half after we put her in it, she found a burst of energy and kept us on our toes chasing her down as she ran around in the dark waiting for the fireworks to start. By the time the explosions began, she was cheering along with everyone else, adding her own "oohs" and "ahhs" at the appropriate times.

And for as much as I thought I loved fireworks myself, this year I found my eyes looking not toward the sky, but riveted on my daughter's face as she stared in wonder at the brilliant lights exploding in front of her. The excitement in her eyes was better than any display of fireworks I've ever seen.