In which I most certainly have caused permanent trauma to my son.

Last weekend, before I turned the house upside-down, we decided kind of last minute-y to take the kids to our church’s fall festival fireworks show. It was a beautiful evening and we hadn’t done much of anything beside cuddle on the couch and watch movies all day so getting out sounded good. Plus my brother, who moonlights for a couple of firework display outfits, was helping put on the show. He’s been putting his natural born ability for lighting things on fire and blowing them up to good use for a few summers now but so far I’ve only been witness to his, um, impromptu amateur shows (read: light giant ass firework then RUN!!!!).

Just to give you a little background, last 4th of July my brother graciously gave the DCFI a box of fireworks. Now if you’re new to the party, DCFI stands for Deputy Chief Fire Idiot. This is a term of endearment. The DCFI actually is a career firefighter and despite the Idiot in his Very Important Title, is pretty darn good at his job. (Just ask him about the time he put a fire out that was blazing inside the wall between his laundry room and the play room! Very talented!) Anyway who better than a highly trained, experienced fireman to handle some fun fireworks to light off for the kids? The DCFI, of course. Except not when they come from my brother. I imagine many well trained firework pyro-technicians are not able to handle fireworks made by my brother.

These were not sparklers, or bottle rockets, or the little worms that grow, reeking of gun powder. No…these were, um, a little bigger than that and that is all I will say due to the maybe not so legal-ish-ness of them. As my brother was talking to the DCFI he explained that these ones here “even the kids can light off!” So he started with those and what do you think we were greeted with in that suburban cul-de-sac? A little 4 foot glowing fountain? Maybe even a 10-15 foot fountain? No. We were greeted with a spectacular professional firework that shot many many feet up into the air and exploded with a boom and crackle that I’m sure was heard and seen for miles. Heh. Maybe he mis-marked that one.

So instead of realizing that my brothers idea of “safe for even kids” and “small-time” fireworks were maybe not quite the same as most peoples, including the police, Bill and the DCFI went ahead and grabbed a giant firework with the name “Pure Seduction” written across it. In their defense they did pass over the one that my brother had written with a pen on the bottom “XXX RUN! XXX”, which will, I assume, be saved for the DCFI’s deathbed. What shot out of that box was twelve cannon-like booms followed by what can only be described as our own personal professional fireworks show. I, being the giant wuss that I am, grabbed Rowan, ran straight into the house and pulled the shades and by the 7th or 8th boom, most of the rest of our party joined me.

After that experience we’ve all been excited to see one of my brother’s shows that took place in a nice (safe! legal! licensed!) location. So the Mallingers, my mom and the four of us went to the church at dusk and let the kids run around in the grass while we waited for the show to start.

Here is where I should be displaying some incredibly cute pictures of Ellie and Rowan sitting cross-legged, facing each other and giggling as they play hand clapping games or of Keaton running in circles and then dive-bombing Grammy or his blanky but my dumb ass forgot the camera so no such luck.

We didn’t have Keaton with us on the night Pure Seduction graced us (and 3 neighboring counties!) with its show, nor did we take him to the fireworks on the 4th. Not because we didn’t think he could handle the fireworks, but because we didn’t think he could handle an 11 o’clock bedtime. Neither of us wanted to deal with a tired, cranky 18 month old so we got a sitter. I guess we kind of, sort of had a discussion about whether we thought the boom booms would scare him that went like this “Do you think the noise will freak him out?” “Hmm, I don’t know. Do you think it will?” “I don’t know” and being the responsible and conscientious parents that we are, that’s where we left it. Go Team Gunter!!

Needless to say, when the first firework was set off, Keaton went from happy go lucky toddler enjoying a peaceful evening out with his family to “OMFG WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!!!!! THE SKY IS EXPLODING!! WHY AREN’T YOU DOING ANYTHING? IF YOU LOVE ME YOU’D DO SOMETHING, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!” Or something close to that. In short, he was scared shitless. I felt so guilty. I hugged him close and walked him to the far end of the very large parking lot, as I didn’t think it helped that we were a mere 300 feet away from where the fireworks were being lit off. His whole body was shaking and his lips were trembling and he was PISSED in that heart wrenching How Could You Do This To Me sort of way. I tried to put him in the car twice but he clung to me for dear life and cried harder when I tried to buckle him in. About 3/4 of the way through Bill relieved me and got Keaton into the car, where he quickly calmed down.

Meanwhile, my brother and his fellow pyro technicians were putting on a terrifyingly magnificent display complete with giant scary mushroom cloud bombs that I later learned my sister thought were accidents which caused her to think my brother had been blown up into itty bitty pieces. After the DCFI clued her into the rise of inventions such as timers and really freakin’ long wires, her fears were put to rest. These crazies do that shit on purpose. And it was pretty cool, unless you were Keaton in which case it was The End Of The World. In his defense, it did maybe sort of look like Armageddon.

So to sum up I learned a very valuable lesson here about not being such an idiot when it comes to small children and fireworks. I was basing Keaton off of Rowan’s reaction to fireworks at this age, which was That is loud but pretty and as long as I’m sitting in your lap I am fine. That was stupid. Keaton has always been more clingy and needy and I should have at least entertained the notion of some easy exits should things not go so well. Live and learn. And also “Take heart”, my mother tells me. Guess which one of her children was the only one to cry and shake with fear at fireworks when they were a toddler? Yep. My brother. And where is he now? Blowing shit up for the sheer joy of it, that’s where.