Fourth of July Fun

On the Fourth of July, I woke up luxuriously late, to find Jericho in the midst of a Video gamefest, and Judah tooling around the living room on his trike.

Mind you, this is a garage-only toy ever since the time I didn't see it while coming into the living room with a load of laundry and nearly broke my neck tripped over it.

Obviously daddy was scoring some huge points with the boys, allowing them to go hog-wild celebrate Independence Day indoors.

But seeing as daddy was already hard at work getting all the preparations made for the BBQ we would have later, I could hardly complain. Not when Chef Jeff is putting on the spread.

Anyway, I always enjoy peeking inside the little storage compartment of Judah's trike to see what he has packed for his journey.

So what does an almost 3 year old toddler boy deem a necessity on a long trike bike trip?



Why, his blankie and a softball, of course!

No doubt for all those napping emergencies he might have after chasing throwing the softball around at the park with his daddy.

Later, during our awesome BBQ lunch, we experienced a little "Christmas in July" when Judah announced proudly, "Wook! I maked a Chwithmuth twee!"



Allllrighty, then!

While cleaning up the carnage dishes in the kitchen, I turned the boys loose out back with a brand new box of sidewalk chalk.

Here we have one of the arteests hard at work.



Here some pitiful, pantless little waif wandered into our yard and began drawing, too.



The poor kid must not have parents that allow him do fun things like graffiti draw to their hearts content all over their backyard sidewalks.

Oh, wait...he looks kind of familiar.

I think it was the whole sans pants thing that clued me in.

Yep, that's our little Judah. Shucks his 'thorth' or 'panth' off every chance he gets.

His pull-ups, too, which is really fun, especially when we find, ahem, dirty ones and then find him sitting on the carpet somewhere.

Such events usually involve much shrieking and scolding and dragging in of the Bissell from the garage for an impromptu carpet cleaning session. (Not that I'm complaining. It's nice to have a machine that will do the dirty work for you.)

Anyway, back to our story.

Raisin wanders over to inspect the work of our resident artists.





She actually seemed interested in what they were doing.

No, I mean seriously interested.

As though she wished she could have a go at it!



If there had been some way for her to hold the chalk in her paw, I'd have let her go to town.

Having almost become an art teacher, I'm all about artistic expression...even if my students are, um, of the canine variety.

Call me crazy, but I think it would be interesting to see what sorts of things my dog might draw.

Some animals are purported to be quite artistic when set up with easels and some sort of medium, usually paints.

You know, like the painting elephants of Thailand

and the painting cats from all over the globe.

Who knows but that we don't have a wonder dog right here under our noses?

But, wait! What is that?!

Yeah, right there inside the play-by-play circle.



Why...it is!

It's bona fide dog art!

My friends, you saw it here first. My brilliant, loveable Shar-Pei Raisin Mulan has created a masterpiece!

Clever dog that she is, she used the only medium available to her...barbeque sauce (ahem, make that K.C. Masterpiece) which spilled earlier while Chef Jeff was working his magic at the grill.

Pure genius! I didn't even have to provide her with paints!

I do believe she could be the next big thing!














Oh, sorry for the long pause there (or should that be paws?)...I was daydreaming about how we would spend all the money we'd make exploiting our famous dog would make so that she could retire in cushy glory. Cared for by none other than her devoted dog-parents...yours truly.

Anyway, here is another masterpiece.



And here she is beside the masterpiece, saying "It's a pretty doggone good likeness, don't you think?"



At least that's what I believe she said. Admittedly, my dog-speak is a tad rusty since our toddler came along. Well, that and the fact that her blue tongue can be a bit distracting when she's trying to talk.

But alas, it was not her masterpiece she was trying to take all the credit for.

Jericho was none to happy to find her trying to steal his thunder.

In a rare act of brotherly solidarity, the boys turned on her. Worked her over. Did a little thing known around here as "Chalkin' the dog". Gave her white spots all over her back.



I'm pretty sure that put her in her place, because later, when we began the fireworks out there? She went and hid out in her doghouse like a little scaredy-cat.

Which was probably a good thing.

After all, she'd heard the stories about how my dad burned down his grandparents living room at the age of three.

It didn't take a rocket scientist an artistic canine prodigy to know the warning signs when she saw them.

Things like handing a flaming sparkler to an almost three year old with a family history of pyromania.





And seeing all manner of spinning, spitting, smoking flames of every color and variety scattered all over her yard, shrieking, popping and booming into her previously peaceful domain.



No. It was all over for her when things turned from good, wholesome 4th of July fireworks fun, into a challenge to see whether or not father and sons could keep the torch lit, so-to-speak...by continuously setting off the remaining fireworks without needing to light another match, using only the sputtering embers from those fireworks that had gone on before.



The frenzy got a little too close to the propane tank in her estimation, and so she scratched at the door wanting into the house, no doubt wanting to put a little more protection space between herself and all the merrymaking.

And I can't say as though I blame her.

There is a crazed look, an almost sinister glee on the face of a pyromaniac at work.



It's truly a frightening spectacle to behold.