As If Being Brad's Clone Isn't Enough

So last night there was a large-ish block party on the cul-de-sac.

Beyond all the eating and merriment, we had our own fireworks display. According to some calculations, about $500 of very exotic and low-rent fireworks shot into the night "sky" (if that's the right term for fifteen feet above the pavement.)

Why go to fireworks for free when you can have a super-expensive show in your own front yard and risk death and burn injury?

My sentiments exactly.

If you've ever participated in a DIY Fireworks Display, you know that noise is two-thirds of the fun. At least for the guys and kids. 

The girls happily ate peanut butter brownie bars between sonic booms.

Because eating is two-thirds of the fun.

Or maybe even three-fourths.

Anyway.

The men-folk and boy bear cubs felt led to name each of the "unbelievable" explosions that rattled ear drums and sent small fires flying.

"The Perfect Storm" was my favorite, although it looked exactly like "Bombs Away."

So with tons of kids narrowly escaping a trip to the ER, dads carrying around lighters, and boys wanting to ride bikes through the sparks, things were a little crazy.

I'd be lying if I said I knew exactly where Jackson and Lilly were during this orderly show of patriotism.

Um, it takes a village. 

So around 11:30, things wrapped up and this is what I found in a neighbor's front yard:

Y'all, he is not a party animal.

Just like his dad, there is not one thing that can come between him and sleep when the tiredness calls.

Or perhaps he is just practicing for college.

He will only rock and roll all night in his dreams.