May the Fourth be with you*

*I already feel like this title has been beyond played out, but stay with me while I explain the relevancy.  Here in southern Michigan it has been raining for almost a week.  Solid.  Big stormy rain, the type with thunder and lightning and no hope of your yard being dry enough to mow.  I have been surviving this near constant deluge by allowing the children to watch a liberal amount of television in the form of movies from the library.  The kiddos were first introduced to the Star Wars franchise back in October at Disney World, and I finally got the original trilogy for them to watch this week.

It was going extremely well.  Then it wasn't.

In a house full of little girlies, matchmaking and wedding planning are some important happenings.  So imagine the absolute disgust and horror at the revelation of Luke and Princess Leia's shared biology. I don't know if they've fully recovered yet.

Brian and I at Disney World.  Awesome.

I'm not a big 4th of July person.  Don't get me wrong, I love me some liberty and I fully celebrate all the day stands for, but as far as holidays go, The Fourth rates somewhere around "meh" for me.  This might be because I have a ginormous aversion to the average Joe having access to exploding pyrotechnic projectiles but also that I question the merit of encouraging a child to hold a flaming stick named because it shoots off a shower of sparks to wave said wand of death around to "write your name".

The man I married, on the other hand, feels it is our God-given right as 'Murican's to purchase and combust as many rockets (or roman candles, or sparklers, or firecrackers, or mortars - what?! did I stutter? yes, mortars) as possible.

This is why I returned home from the gym Wednesday night to find the population of our neighborhood in our front yard (ok, just Chris and Stacy and their brood from down the street) gleefully awaiting nightfall so they could watch a fantastic display while I held my breath waiting for someone to blow off a limb in the process.

"Never, ever play with fire.  Unless I ok it in celebration of our liberation from the Brits. Then, throw that fire in the air and wave it around like you just don't care. But watch out for your brother."

Look at the boy's face; I'm totally having a Beavis and Butt-head moment here - "Fire! Fire!"

Man Heaven Partners in Crime.

Watching our daddies "blow stuff up".

Everyone (and their limbs and digits) survived the night unscathed, so I went to bed that night to the sound of everyone else in my suburban town shooting off rockets, blissful that it was finally over at my house.

Thankfully my children have listening to the Madagascar 3 soundtrack forty million times and can sing Katy Perry's Firework ad nauseum, so the day after this impromptu block party we were able to recall the memories of such a fantastic night of potential dismemberment and maiming.

On the actual Fourth of July I took the girlies to see Monster's University. (Totally worth seeing.)  It was a surprise to them. We "took a walk" and ended up at the theater a half mile away. It was awesome to watch them freak the heck out when they figured out what we were doing.  *Collects her Awesome Mom Points* 

Happy Friday! Go have a great weekend!