The boys loved stomping on pop-pops. Big brother had his first go with a sparkler this year. They're a lot different now than the ones I remember. These were like little colored flames. The old ones actually sparked, which was probably more dangerous. Wonder how many of those fake rabbit-fur coats ignited in the eighties? The last photo is one of those that will always make me smile. I was content letting the men handle the fireworks, but the baby kept wiggling to be set free from my hip. Swapping hip-baby duties with daddy, it was my turn to light up the sky. Jimmy cackled as a ran from the lit bottle rocket like I had just ignited a grenade. Next year, I vow to be a spectator only. Yes, I used to dress up and be all pretty and sparkly for New Year's Eve. Yet this year, I'm photographed wearing sweatpants and houseshoes. Hmmm...speaking of resolutions.