Her sweet breath on my face.
Her soft, warm cheek against mine.
Her small voice describing each sight. “I like the raining ones. And the exploding ones! Not so much the shaped ones. Oo! Christmas colors!”
The impromptu fireworks continue to shimmer in the sky just over the trees in our front yard.
My arms and back began to ache from the weight of her growing 7.5 year old frame. But I push through the pain to keep the magical moment going as long as I can.
I turn around and witness the same magic happening with my 10.5 year old son on my husband’s hip. Two kids too big to be carried this way, yearning to be held like babes just a little longer. As if this special moment could stop time for a bit, to let their childhoods stretch just a little further.
So there we stood. Our little family of 4. Two giant kids in their parents arms. Watching the glimmering and sparkling light show, as if it were just for us. Just for our family so we could have that special time we needed.
(We live near a golf club and they do fireworks for weddings sometimes. Before covid, we would see fireworks at least once a week. Since covid, this is only the 2nd time we’ve seen them)