No Fireworks Here ... Sort Of
I was definitely going to miss the earth shakers that night. Those intensely loud fireworks that make your whole body quake when they go off. One of my favorite things of the year. I’m guessing Yali wouldn’t be a big fan yet. Whenever he hears an unnecessarily obnoxious car horn – which happens often – he throws both hands against his face in shock. Well, mock shock. He’s two. He can be a little dramatic.
Our Fourth of July morning was spent mingling amongst the collection of French families who didn’t even know we were American.
“Canadian?” one of the dads asked after he showed Yali and me to his mom over Skype.
Yali needed more clothes. Not because he’s grown out of what we already bought for him – although I think he might have gained a pound or two from that vicious appetite the past week – but because of the dirt patch in the garden, and the inability to hold a spoon correctly for more than five seconds.
Bebe Ganga. It only took a fifteen minute walk, and we had our choice of whatever he needed. Relatively middle-of-the-road clothes for a tall price. In fact, we ended up spending about five times as much on his clothes that afternoon as we would for an upscale dinner two blocks away.
Crepes and Waffles. The sort of dining experience you’d expect back home in Clayton. Seventeen dollars and fifty-seven cents for fat crepes and mini waffles for Yali (although he ate about a third of my crepe too). Oxbear even had an espresso afterwards. I guess when you balance out the cost of clothes and food, it works out pretty well.
Back to the B&B for a group Skype with most of the family gathered for the Fourth at the Big House. They would drive out to Florissant later for the best fireworks display in the city.
“So were you near the bombing the other day?” Aunt Petunia asked.
I didn’t hear it, so I guess not. Ten minutes’ drive away or so? Seven blocks from a U.S. Ambassador’s official residence, as the story went.
Maybe I should just agree with speculators that we’re Canadian … for just a couple more weeks.
Meanwhile, Yali is becoming a little drama man, milking it to the nines whenever he doesn’t get exactly what he has in mind in that quick-thinking little head of his. I probably shouldn’t, but I just laugh and ignore it. He’s two. Plus, he loves soccer: drama kings of the sports world. That’s what it is; I’ll blame it on the soccer.