Hubby, the kids and I are vacationing at my in-laws lake house. We're here with my mother- and father-in-law, sister-in-law, brother-in-law and their three children. We're experiencing pure summer bliss. On the Fourth of July, we journeyed on the boat to the most spectacular fireworks display I've ever seen.
The kids climbed into still-wet life jackets and we all piled into Poppy's boat. The clouds and the rain, which had hovered for the last 48 hours, parted. A hot pink and royal blue sunset emerged. Captain Poppy allowed each of the grandkids a turn at the helm as we traveled through the night to the perfect firework watching perch.
We anchored the boat and the waves kindly lapped the sides. The fireworks began, exploding overhead in a spectacular national birthday celebration. A perfectly orchestrated show ensued, brilliant reds, vibrant blues and gorgeous golds. After Abby patriotically whooped it up with her cousins in the front of the boat, she came to sit with me. We had a primo spot on the boat where we practically reclined. She rested her freshly bathed head next to mine. Her body was still. At times we discussed our favorite fireworks but mostly we lay hypnotized by the fireworks and the rhythmic lull of the boat dancing on the lake. To date, it is one of my favorite moments with my daughter.
The show ended. Abby vacated my lap and reolocated to Hubby's lap, drifting to sleep with his strong arms wrapped around her. Henry took advantage of the vacancy at my lap and dove into my arms. He curled up and promptly went to sleep. As we navigated the nautical traffic back to the lake house, I was once again lulled by the scent of a sweet child's head and the heavy weight of a small, solid body. I whispered my love to Abby and Henry in their dreams. The lake whispered, too, and wished everyone a good night's slumber.
Good night, lake.
Good night, America.