1 Mother 2 Another

We have celebrated July 4th several
different ways as a family over the years: when we lived in New
York, we’d throw a picnic blanket on the floor and watch the
Macy’s fireworks show out our window on the horizon. A couple
years ago we went to a minor league baseball game and had a
fabulous time, with fireworks at the end and everything. Last year
we were in Florida and watched distant fireworks from the beach.


This year we discussed our options. There are several places in our
area to see quality fireworks; the problem with them all is that
they’re all, um, outside.

Now, before you roll your eyes at me, let
me tell you two things. One, it was ninety-five degrees last night.
At nine p.m. And two, we’ve got chiggers, y’all. Bad.


If you don’t know what chiggers are, thank your lucky stars.
Chiggers are (I am not making this up, and yes, that’s the
common name for them) microscopic bugs that live in the grass,
crawl up your legs, and burrow under your skin. The subsequent
raised welt – the spot where they live happily for several
WEEKS – is about fifty times itchier than a mosquito bite.
And they are mighty attracted to tight spots on your body, so
they’re most likely to be found in your armpit, along your
bra strap, at your bikini line, the top of your butt crack –
all nice, comfy spots to scratch discreetly in public for a couple
weeks. And as of yet, we’ve found no remedy for the spots.


It’s been a particularly bad year for chiggers since we had
an incredibly mild winter, and Cora came home from vacation Bible
school with several bites a day – from the fifteen minutes of
outside play time they’d get. So this year I was reluctant to
sit in chigger-infested grass in one hundred-degree heat with
cranky kids up past their bedtime, particularly an elder child who
worries the whole time during fireworks that something will
actually catch fire.


Call me lazy.


So this year we tried something new. Yesterday morning we went to
an early-morning parade, and stood on the street and cheered our
local vets and troops and beauty queens. We had a great time and
the whole thing was over before the weather hit triple digits. Then
we went home, made ice cream, ate hamburgers and hot dogs, and
watched world-class fireworks from our picnic blanket on our floor
in front of our television.


Let me tell you, it was pretty darn nice. No worrying where the
potty was, no long lines to get home, no traffic jams, no whiney
kids. And yes, I understand it was the ultimate in consumerism, to
watch fireworks in air-cooled comfort on a big-screen television. I
get that.


But it sure was nice.


And my bikini-line is chigger-free. That’s freedom, baby.