The thing about living on a mountainside is that the echo is incredible. I've been listening to about two hours worth of fireworks displays. I couldn't find any of the fireworks displays listed online so we could attend. Could they be really far away?
"We always miss out on the fireworks," Jared comments. "It's just as well, Beren really needed to get to sleep," he adds.
Therefore, putting a child to bed before nightfall with surround sound fireworks is not easy. He charged down the steps twice after "being put to bed".
I intercepted him once, giving him a flashlight (my idea) and the task of putting his stuffed animals to bed (Jared's idea). The second time, I followed him again back upstairs, but this time I stayed.
"Would you like to hear a story about when you were little?" Beren affirms an asks for a silly story. I tell him about when he'd eat raw kale in the garden as a toddler. He bend at the waist and graze like a goat.
Fireworks pop. We hear gunfire. Pow, pow. Pow, pow. Pow, pow. "What's that?" Beren asks. "Gunfire. It makes me feel a little scared," I say. Beren is silent. "Sometimes people shoot guns on holidays when there are fireworks."
I sing Itsy Bitsy Spider, which is perfectly in my range. I like singing it for that reason. After one round, Beren requests, "Momma, sing one where the spider doesn't come down." Fair enough, who wants to end the day on a bad note, even if the spider does climb up again?
I begin to sing, and Beren prompts me. "The spider goes for a ride on Milka's (my in-law's cat) back." I weave the suggestion in. He makes other suggestions and each one is woven in, until the spider and Milka become very tired. "Milka closes both eyes," Beren says. I add that to the song. Beren and I like a Margaret Wise Brown poem in which a mother cat advises her wandering kitten to sleep with one eye open.
I lose the melody a bit, but holding my notes. I ease down Beren's bunk bed ladder, and offer him a drink. He gladly gulps some.
I make my way into the hall. As I descend the stairs, Beren says, "Everything in this house is asleep."
Once downstairs, I plop on the couch next to Jared. "Every thing is asleep, but not a single person," I say. And we hear not another sound from Beren's room.