She has goosebumps; as the sun goes down it gets a little chilly.
“Mom is it time yet?” she asks for the hundredth time. Almost, I say.
The other kids are playing, calling to her to come jump on the trampoline, have a cupcake, get back in the pool.
Traces of frosting have dried on her tanned cheek, and she tries to lick it off with her frosting-stained tongue.
Her eyes twinkle with anticipation. She can hardly stand still.
She runs to the counter in her dirty, bare feet, hair still dripping wetly down her back after playing in the pool all day.
She climbs up the stones carefully so that she can wait.
She wants to be right in the middle of the counter that all of the kids will pile on to when the show begins.
Patiently she sits watching for the first colorful burst.
“Mom look!” She sees them out in the distance, miles and miles away but undeniably what she’s been waiting to see.
In just ten more minutes or so, she’ll see them directly above her head. She’ll be squirming and squealing with excitement, and I will enjoy every minute of watching her and the rest of the kids watching the fireworks in awe of the beautiful colors and patterns.