I feel like I need to write tonight. Maybe an early Weekend Coffee Share. Maybe a Weekend White Claw share. (A WC share. Don’t mock; it’s a light something to drink in the summer.)

Fireworks are going off around me, and I kind of feel bad. When I was in the hospital for my gallbladder a few years ago, it was on July 3rd and 4th. I was on a floor for pre-op patients, but they also brought brought up patients in psychiatric crisis, too.

As we could hear the fireworks go off around the hospital building, I could hear the wails from several patients in the throes of a PTSD flashback. Their wails continued through the night, sometimes lessening, and then I could hear the low soothing voices of nurses telling them they were safe. Just tonight, I heard my neighbors bitch about how early the fireworks were starting because their dogs were freaking out, and I’ve been seeing posts on Facebook about being considerate to animals.

Suddenly I thought, ‘What kind of people are we? That we deliberately explode things that we know terrorize our neighbors?’ It seems really ostentatious this year.

And also, because I seemingly HAVE to second guess myself as a mother, I wondered if I was doing right by Wee One (WO) not letting her stay up to watch them. She’s six, and I’m still rigid about her bedtime unless we’re with people, and we rarely do things that go this late, specifically because I’m rigid about bedtime. Fireworks go off too late. I’ve been siting here thinking about if I’ll let her watch next year.

Do you remember watching fireworks as a kid? I do, but I don’t know that I was six. I’m telling myself, she has the rest of her childhood to make these memories. I did get her some small fireworks to do tomorrow night, sprinklers and snap pops, and that will be fun. Maybe we’ll have a dance party.

How are you guys?

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