Memories floating through spacious time, January til June and then July a month of independence and celebration Bonfires and Hotdogs a child’s sensation. A bouquet of Marshmallow fills the air burnt on the outside, black and gooey, excitement as the softness passes the lips, Sadness as one falls into the fire squeals for the taste of just one more. Crackle and pop the flames a blaze, orange and red, the nights eyes gaze at fireworks exploding across the sky, Cheers as color

Fireworks crack outside our window. “Aren’t they done yet? Don’t they realize people have kids in these homes?” Another loud boom. “That’s it! If they wake the kids up with their nonsense I am dropping off the screaming children with them. They can deal with it!” We live in a beautiful southern suburb with a penchant for holiday celebrations. But something about July Fourth has always irked me since I became a mom. And it’s not just the blasting “fun” taking place outside my

We’re sounding off the trumpets for a Happy 4th of July!!! The Dinner Horn, Winslow Homer, 1870, via wiki commons