Baby, You're A Firework

I'm a little behind on the blogging.  

It's summer and we've been off doing a million things in a million places at a million miles an hour.  

So, this will be short and sweet.  

(Or, at least short.)

(OK.  Probably not short either, but shorten than I could make it if I wanted to.  I take a LOT of pictures, people.)

For the Fabulous Forth, we visited the parentals in Orange County.  

 

We spent the day just as we should have by first almost breaking our necks on the trampoline.

Then Britt decided to teach my kids and thing or two.

She tried dive rolls, handsprings, and flips.  

 In the end, all she managed to teach them was that she is so much cooler than I am.

 Look what this girl can do.  

 OK, now you're just showing off...

 Seriously. Stop it.

 Since we had managed to not break our necks on the trampoline, we then tried to drown ourselves. 

 

Braden also decided to teach my kids a thing or two.  

He tried teaching Aubrey how to swim and Brooklyn how to surf.  

 In the end, all he managed to teach them was that he, too, is so much cooler than I am.

  

 Next, we ventured to the worst fireworks show in the state of California. 

 (I just noticed the kid in the red chair behind us.  Well, hello there.)

While the fireworks were lamer than lame, (they didn't have a single ginormous gold sparkly shoot-off glittery one.  I could argue that that alone makes it not even qualify as a fireworks show.) the girls liked it.  

And that's all that matters.  

Happy 4th.