Go here for links to all the entries in the blogfest. But first, here's mine:
The boom of fireworks blares through the walls, and I grit my teeth. Some of us are trying to get our kids to sleep.
Rumor is, someone's been getting illegal fireworks in Wyoming and exploding them in the sky over my house. I thought now that all the real fireworks had been set off, they'd finally give it a rest, but here they go again, for the third night in a row.
I pick up the phone and dial the number for the police station, report the disturbance, and go back to putting the little kids to bed.
When they're all tucked in and the racket has finally stopped, I realize Jim isn't home yet with our teenager. I'm about to shoot him a text when a knock comes at the door.
The policeman standing on the porch doesn't shock me - I figure he's come to ask me about my report. But then I notice Jim and Taylor with him, both looking sheepish. Jim is clutching a yellow ticket in his hand.
"No more fireworks, all right, son?" the cop asks, as if he's speaking to Taylor, though his stern glare is directed at my husband.
"Yes, Sir," they both reply, properly contrite.
But when the door is shut, Jim slams the ticket down on the counter and glowers. "Stinkin' neighbors called the cops on us. Can you believe it?"
"No, I can't," I say in all honesty, staring at him with wide eyes.