So the 4th of July pictures continue to roll in... Our oldest son put himself in charge of recreation and entertainment. Therefore, we had remote control airplanes to throw water balloons at, and cars for the dogs to chase until they had to jump in the baby pool to cool off. He even ordered big, new slingshots to fire the water balloons at the plane that he was willing to crash.
Apparently, he needed some assistance decorating the plain white plane, after naming her 'Merica. I am always kept in check by my kids who constantly teach me about pop culture things, and 'Merica was the word of the month. May have had something to do with the World Cup? Anyway, being the hip mom and Lily that I am, I bought in to the idea that 'Merica was in no way a desecration of the word, America.
It was just the word of the moment.
Yes, it took three men to effectively shoot the small water balloons at the flying target.
Yes, clearly, someone could have been hurt. Raising boys, the concept of someone being hurt is fairly familiar to me. It happens.
Usually, it is the biggest boy, Chief, that comes home with the injuries. It's nothing for him to walk in the door of an evening, dripping blood dried up on his head, and say, "what?" Me, being Wife of the Year -- I typically look at the floor and try not to laugh where he can hear me. He seriously has no idea that 6 hours ago when he was under that tractor and bumped his head, it drew blood, ran down his face, dried up, and he never even knew. He's not complaining, so why should I?
Girls can play. Even ones that are dressed cute and not laying on the pavement.
Here is oldest son, showing the neighbors about the cool device that fills and blows up water balloons, even tying them. But that is before he pulls out the dangerous gases, and big pieces of PVC pipe to shoot his best potato gun. Yes, he has more than one, but this one shoots the farthest. Being that we live where there is no danger of a potato hitting anyone as long as it is fired somewhat north, I turn the other way and hope for the best. It's one of those deals where I let Chief shut it down if need be, because I want no part of it.
It's not long before younger brother finds a sack full of "old" fireworks that my brother obviously smuggled into town. He's never seen such a treasure trove of explosives. These pop bottle rockets have been illegal since the 80's, but my bro said he just bought them a year or two ago. (Doubtful.) And these are giant ones! No, of course we didn't shoot them off. That would be against the law. I'm pretty sure he took them back to his home. Far, far away from here. Because I assure you, they were not lit.
Here. That I know of... on the 4th of July.
Chief turned on the Mac Davis, Charlie Rich, and Johnny Cash playlist that I prepared, but the crowd got so rowdy, that we never got the chance to sing along. I think it was because there was too much food. And ice cream.
I sure do love these guys. When did they grow up and everything? We are blessed.