I have a very strict time by which I am to be in bed each night. Except, apparently, when many of my cousins and other children gather with family members to watch fireworks go boom. While groggy, I greatly enjoyed the evening.
By the time the fireworks started going boom, I was exhausted. I had only gotten a nap in the car. I sprawled across Grandma Peggy's lap and could only weakly utter the necessary ooh's and aah's.
By the end of the display, however, I was wide awake, but still too tired to be anything more than exceedingly obedient in getting ready for bed. The next day, we went on a walk in a place where I was promised amals. It was, by far, the most scarcely populated zoo I have ever seen. I did, however, get to push Ada's stroller, chase Daddy, and see ducks and a rock Mommy and Daddy claimed was a turtle.
Then we saw cousins, I swam (I will describe my current feelings towards swimming another time), and set off "baby fireworks." I even got to hold a couple, but mostly with Daddy's help.
All of this mayhem, lack of sleep, and danger was, in fact, a birthday party. I know not who America is, but she or he seemed to have a happy birthday.
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