I promised details about Washington, DC were next. But I forgot that I have some fourth of July pictures that needed to be shared. But it’s still a travel story, so there is that.
As of one week before the fourth of July, I fully thought we were going to be staying home by ourselves. No grilling, maybe some fireworks downtown if we got our act together. Then one of A.’s college roommates said he was coming to Chicago and wondered if he could drive up.
Then a day or two later, the parents of one of the boys’ other roommates called to ask whether we wanted to come over. Before we knew it, we were signed up for just the kind of laid-back, family-and-friends kind of fourth of our dreams.
And it was lovely. Despite A.’s short memory when it came to transmitting some messages from our hosts, we all got to go swimming, I got some emergency strawberry shortcake supplies out, and a good time was had by all.
Until the fireworks. The night of the third, our across the street neighbors were setting off some ground-based fireworks. Peter and I went over to watch, and he was intrigued by the light and sound. Our hosts for the fourth had a box of bottle rockets. We were only able to launch two before the sheer terror exhibited by Peter overtook the pyrophiles’ fun. Maybe next year.