Mason and I practiced for a week doing "what fireworks do". We'd flick our hands out and say Boom! Boom! Boom! Every year, a grandkid ends up in my mom's house freaking out and I didn't want it to be Mason.
When the fireworks started it was already WAY past Mason's bedtime. He froze in my arms and didn't move a muscle, not even when cousin Natalia knocked him in the head repeatedly as she pretended each explosion was shooting her.
I tried readjusting him on my lap, but my little still as a statue baby wouldn't budge. His expression reminded me of last year when I took him to the ocean for the first time. Not really happy, but not crying. Sort of a "ok, this is really intense but I can handle it" type of look.
Cousin Hyrum trotted over and joined Mason on my lap. The Grand Finale started and we were all amazed.
Hyrum: "Whoa....Awesome"
Mason (finally): "Whoa...BOOM!"
Then it was over and the sky went dark again. Mason was very still in my arms. I leaned over and put him on the grass on a blanket. As I was chatting to friends and family nearby, he zonked out.
I wonder what he dreamed about.
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