Holiday at the Hillbilly Mansion

One time my sister asked, "Dad, when is the Fourth of July?"
(I know. But we still claim her.) Dad told her "Between the
third and the fifth of July." Then she understood why we were
laughing at her.

I'm so glad we had that revolution thingy so we can have a day
off work to BBQ. What? That's not what it was about? Those
triangle-hat people didn't say "It'll be done in a minute" and that's
how they got the name "minutemen?" Have I told you that I'm not
very good with history? Most of what I know is from helping
6th-12th graders with it every day. (No, people, I have not
forgotten what this day is really about. I am not insulting the people
who have fought for our freedom. #2 stepson has been back from
his year in Iraq for a couple months now, and says he wants to
return. So I don't need no lecturin' on my patriotism, thank you.)

Not much of a celebration went on here at the Hillbilly Mansion
this year. Hillbilly Husband was on the back porch BBQing, which
is his major talent. We are not the party people we were before
we had kids. Well, the kids we have together, anyway, because
I don't remember the older boys slowing us down one bit back
in the day when I first met HH.

In past years we have driven to town to pick up Hillbilly Grandma
and Hillbilly Great-Grandma and take them to a city fireworks
display. We'd pack a cooler of soda and snacks for the kids, which
they would demolish in the first 5 minutes, then wander around
asking "Is it time yet?"

HH took #1 son on a winery tour yesterday. I know. But I
didn't want to go. They came back around 2:00 and proceeded
to the barn to burn some cardboard. No recycling for us rednecks--
release that carbon back into the atmosphere! Right after he lit a
big pile, the wind kicked up and #1 hightailed it to the house. HH
had to stay and put out a "little fire" as he called it. Then the rain
poured down. Lucky the BBQ area is on the porch.

#2 son was excited to smell that I was making "doubled eggs."
I don't much like that peeled-egg smell myself. He tried to help
me peel some potatoes, but decided they were too slimy. #1
was a big help with the potatoes and chopping onions. I felt like
Tom Sawyer. "Now I can't let just anybody peel these taters.
What'll ya give me if I let you do my work for me?"

We set off fireworks around 9:00. We had two minor casualties.
#2 son grabbed the glowing ember end of a punk, and was
carrying on about how he had a number two degree burn like
he got a Hillbilly Grandma's from making Rice Krispie treats.
(That is his name for a 2nd degree burn.) #1 son made fun of
him until karma taught him the lesson of "Who's the biggest
crybaby now?" by dropping a spark on his neck while he was
cavorting with a sparkler. You would have thought the kid
needed a skin graft, the way he squalled. It didn't even leave
a mark. I know, because he insisted "Here, Mom. Use the
light of my camera." (Holds camera to the back of his neck.)
"Can you see it?" He was sorely disappointed that little brother
won the game of "Who gets more sympathy for being hurt?"

The kids did not beg for as many fireworks this year, what with
one being preoccupied with driving, and the other with GameBoy.
HH always buys some after the 4th and keeps a few fireworks
for later, since we live at the corner of nowhere and Hooterville,
and can set them off any time. The dog and cats don't like it much,
but I don't like them running laps around the porch at night. I
guess we're even.