Honoring Those that Fought for Our Freedom (Namely, Will Smith)

Happy Birthday, 'Murica!

I guess technically the nation's birthday would fall on the anniversary of the ratification of the Constitution, and not the signing of the Declaration of Independence.  And, of course, the Declaration wasn't even signed on the 4th of July - most of the cowardly Founding Fathers waited a month or so to sign it, as they were kinda fond of their necks at the time, and rightly so feared British reprisal.

But I degress.  We all know the real reason this day is celebrated:

Damn straight.

Here - check out what we did to celebrate our Independence over the British, the Aliens, and all other things un-'Murica:

We had decided previously to spend the holiday at the beach, and so in the morning we drove out to the Gulf coast, in the St. Pete's neck of the woods. . .

Setting up headquarters at Madiera Beach.  That's Mom off to the right, there - she's in town visiting (I'll post about that later.)

Say what you will about Florida, you sure as hell can't complain about its beaches.

This umbrella-thing would later on in the afternoon fill up with high schoolers, who listened to some really shitty music on their stereo, but were otherwise tolerable.

Abby demands Kris return to shore.

Abby fears waves like nobody's business.

Grandma and the Cannonball.

Tossing kids in waves (just mine, not other people's kids - pretty sure that's illegal.)

Alayna and I found some washed-up coral along the shore, so - of course - she had to pick it up and play with it.

Abby, in better spirits.

'Coffee' break.

Snack break.

Alayna, waiting patiently for her return to the sea.

Building sand castles (or something.)

Grandma - like me - isn't a big fan of going out deep with the girls.  Sharks down here have been known to swim up in a foot of water and bite swimmers on the leg.  Stupid nature.

Constructing one last series of sand castles before hitting the road back to Orlando.

I wanted to grill out when we got back home, seeing how it was the Fourth and everything.  As you can see here, these ladies love their picture being taken.

As in previous years, our neighborhood resembles a war zone the evening of the Fourth - dozens of houses let loose a barrage of bought-under-a-pavilion-in-a-grocery-store-parking-lot fireworks, to the tune of hundreds and hundreds of dollars.  Home explosives, evidently, are totally legal down here in America's Wang.  Not that we're complaining, mind you - every year we get treated to a fireworks show as good if not greater than the ones we had back home growing up, all from the comfort of our own driveway.

Trying out sparklers ('cause this is about as hardcore as our kids get.)

Grandma, having a blast.

Trying to hand Abby back her sparkler - the kid loses interest quickly.

Every year we buy an assortment of Morning Glories and other such low-grade, no-boom fireworks for the kids. . . and every year we light a handful before they don't want to do fireworks anymore.  Consequently, we're sitting on a stockpile of sparklers, morning glories, those snake/cat-poop looking things, poppers, and other such Diet Fireworks.

I'll spare you the ridiculous amount of fireworks pictures that I usually upload every year around this time - Kris has been making a point of it lately to reign in my over-zealous picture-taking.  Just like a woman. . .

Happy Birthday, 'Murica!

- Brian