"Let's have an adventure!"

Yesterday was one of those days, where the heat was getting to us, and the laundry was piling up.  It was a holiday, but an awkwardly situated one. In the middle of a work week, it seemed more like an opportunity to catch up on chores than an occasion to relax poolside with something fizzy/frozen/alcoholic/all-of-the-above.  And admittedly, my husband and I succumbed to the former rather than the much-needed latter.  We cleaned, we organized.  The pool sat in our backyard with nary a ripple, the grill looking plain downtrodden by 6pm, heated only by the 100 degree day. An epic flop of a 4th of July in the making.

And then my Mom arrived, after a day on her feet working as a pharmacist. She'd been texting me all day, "get out and swim, have some fun, relax!" She bounded through our kitchen door with the same impossible enthusiasm, to find us moving around the house, ironically, like sub-zero particles. She was on a mission to find a fireworks display for the family.  With 2 kids under 3, we hadn't made it to a formal fireworks show in years. In retrospect, we had to admit it was long overdue.

After some debate about cloud cover, crowds, bedtimes, and other well-intentioned excuses, we piled into the van like a bunch of storm chasers and headed out in search of a restaurant meeting the key requirements of being open on the 4th of July, and somewhat unlikely to cause crippling food poisoning. "Let's have an adventure!" my Mom cheered as she shepherded my 3 year old into the van, recalling the many times she said this to me throughout my childhood as we'd embarked on countless impromptu day trips to the beach, the mall, and other mother-daughter jaunts.

A parking-lot-picnic, a short drive to a nearby shopping center, and a brief walk into a neighborhood park at just after dusk led us to one of the most spectacular fireworks displays I've ever seen.  My 3 year old, riding on Daddy's shoulders, squealed with delight as bursts of light and color streaked above us. My 9-month-old kicked his legs wildly in his stroller, and each time the flashes of color lit his face from the sky, I could see his 4 little white teeth gleaming as he giggled. For a rare moment, I was in the moment. 

As we pulled back into our driveway well past the children's bedtime, two sleepy little yawns signaled the final wind-down of our excursion. A day that had started without a plan beyond vacuuming had ended with one of the most memorable experiences of my life.  Our family had recaptured a long-lost tradition of my own childhood, an impromptu adventure we couldn't have planned better.