Do We Sing "Happy Birthday, America?"

This is the question Parker asked tonight while we were waiting for fireworks to start. Apparently this afternoon's discussion over whether it was Memphis' birthday, or America's birthday (then when is Memphis' birthday, if not today, and wait, wait... does Memphis even have a birthday?) hadn't answered all his questions. So I said "Sure, buddy, if you want to sing Happy Birthday to America, I suppose you can."

I'd like to say we joined together in song to honor our country right there in the parking lot of Germantown Village Square shopping center, but I'm nothing if not honest. The truth is that right then they remembered their Transformer cars from a recent Happy Meal in the back seat, and as they jumped back into the car to get them, the fleeting moment of young patriotism was gone.

I'm not one of those "decorate the house" kind of holiday moms (exception: Christmas). Sometimes I fancy myself being that kind of holiday mom, and I think in a different world, I would be. You know, the kind of world where I don't have a 50 hour/week job and there was a very handsome, Sharon-adoring man who made all the money we needed, and the only finance-related thought passing through my sweet little professionally highlighted head would be what to spend that money on this month. We'd live in a house I'd enjoy living in, it would be clean, and fun to go all Martha Stewart on. I can see why people do that sort of thing. It's very... grounding. It says, "I have not only the time, but also the desire to hang my American flag wreath (bought with my husband's hard-earned money) on my front door (also bought with my husband's hard earned money), put flags in patriotic-themed centerpieces, and make beautiful-as-they-are-tasty desserts with seasonal berries arranged in the form of the stars and stripes to take to the neighborhood Fourth of July picnic. Yep, I can see the appeal of that. I can see it, but as of right now, that is not how we roll.



No, Cable and Parker's Fourth of July went more like this.

In an unfortunate routine of waking up with the sun due to my 7-3 summer camp shift last week, Cable arrived in my room at 5:50 am. That's FIVE fifty. I unpleasantly informed Cable that it was not time to get up, to turn the damn light off and go back to bed. Cable did go back to his bed just long enough for me to feel a half-conscious sense of relief, then turned their bedroom light on and proceeded to wake his sleeping brother. Still reeling from the previous day's observation that they, my twins who had speech therapy in our home at 2 years old because they weren't doing much talking, never, ever stop talking, I, again, not-real-pleasantly mandated a minimum of one more hour of peace and quiet, and that these boys would be permitted to be awake, on Parker's bed, with the lights off, provided that no sounds be heard from that room. (Right...)

Fast forward to a time not to be disclosed, when I finally dragged myself out bed. It was, after all, a holiday. And while there were no plans for barbeques or American flag desserts, I felt somewhat inspired to spontaneously put together some Fourth of July fun for the boys. And this fun involved fireworks on the driveway, like my brother and his friends did (to my kid sisterly delight) when we lived on Mississippi street.

As our good City council persons banned the sale of fireworks sometime in the last couple years, Memphians now must leave the city limits to purchase their holiday explosives. I knew roughly where to go, but that dash of uncertainty gave the whole trip the slightest taste of adventure, which pleased me. Having never bought fireworks here before (gasp!), I admitted to the boys that for all I knew, those places might be closed on the actual holiday, but we were going to give it a shot.

It should be noted here that on the way, we passed two GIANT billboards on 40 East with huge neon block letters announcing the store's exact location and the motivational "Buy 1 Get 4 Free!" -- billboards I have been driving past twice a day for weeks without noticing them. I was rolling my eyes at myself when I was interrupted by our triumphant arrival at Fireworks City, which was indeed open, and apparently the only fireworks-peddling establishment in all of Shelby County. And there we were, just three of about seven hundred and eighty-nine people who decided, "Hey y'all! It's the Fourth of Joooo-LY! Let's git us some FAHwurks!"

There were so many cars at Fireworks City on Canada Road, exit 20, that cars were lined up for a place to park in the neighboring field and there were guys with air-traffic control wands directing the process . We actually didn't have to wait very long, and the couple minutes were well worth it when Cable and Parker could hardly contain themselves upon realizing that "WHOA!!! We're driving on GRASS!!! Mommeeee!!! We didn't know our car could drive on GRASS!!!"

We found a parking spot (in the GRASS!) and marched our trio up to the log-cabin-esque fireworks store. With one "Hold hands, boys. We're going in," we made our way into the body-to-body crowd of patrons, and realizing this would be no time to be particular, I grabbed our basket and set my sights on sparklers and smoke bombs. I only had to talk Parker out of the Black Cat M-960-Blow-Your-House-and-Rotten-Tree-Down-Big-Bang-something-or-other two times, which I felt was high-ranking on the cooperative scale, especially in the midst of such chaos.

The proprietors of Fireworks City had a two-line checkout system that at first seemed screwy to me and everyone figuring it out around us. It entailed one line for having your items totaled and bagged up, and two other lines for payment (cash/plastic). Again, surprisingly, it really didn't take that long, but nevertheless the boys got a little temperamental during the wait. (Cable really doesn't care for crowds, it was about five degrees hotter inside the store, and just for the record, these boys are long overdue for some apart-time, but that's another story).

Thirteen dollars later (how much you wanna bet that when my brother Ted bought the same things back in 1983, the bill was like $2.50), we had assorted sparklers, smoke bombs, and snakes. (Regretfully, I didn't see the snap caps until we'd already been through the first line, and there was just no going back).

We stopped at the grocery store on the way home to pick up some red-white-and-blue Bomb Pops (now called Firecrackers, who would've guessed?). We returned home and sparklered, snaked and smoke bombed the tar out of Friar Tuck until we were coughing and couldn't see across the street.

When it was finally time to head out for the "big fireworks," we gathered our things and left. I made the executive decision to travel east, as opposed to downtown by the river, since I had the boys by myself this year and Germantown seemed like the less potentially disastrous choice between the two. We found a spot in the parking lot of the shopping center across from Municipal Park and set up camp in a grassy median right next to our car. No $10 parking, hauling chairs, bags, or children down to Riverside Drive and back again. Score one for me.



The boys ran as wild as two boys can on a 6x20 ft. grassy oasis in the middle of a parking lot, and occasionally sat in their little chairs for popsicles or Fritos, until the first fireworks began. They were pretty good (the fireworks, that is). Not the best I've seen, but this wasn't really for me. Most things aren't, anymore... haha. Cable and Parker were pretty good too, all things considered. Getting two very sticky, worn out little boys back in the car that was a foot and a half away at 9:45 pm produced more than one incident (can you imagine what might have happened if we'd had to walk from the river back up to Beale Street???). That tends to be discouraging for me, since I always feel like we don't get to do that much in the way of special occasions, and what we do get to do usually ends with them coming unglued and me getting pissed off out of impatience and frustration). Far from Norman Rockwell, we are. When I asked them if they had a good time, Cable scowled at me, and Parker's answer through choked-back tears was "The firewoooks... weren't... for a long time...Waaaaaaa..." And ten seconds later they were asleep.

So we'll all just keep working on appreciating the things we get to do. Or, hell, we can just drive on the grass when we need a little thrill, since that's probably what they'll wake up talking about tomorrow.

"Happy Birthday, dear America..."