The fireworks started while it was still light out. And the streets were full of people walking down the hill, with thier umbrellas folded and backpacks and coolers full. Happy people waiting for the bus in party clothes. Men in flip flops walking fast with friends. I watch all of this from the solarium, my bridge. My ship bridge. Anya stands on the changing table looking down and I say "street" and she says "stree". "stree, stree, stree" she says over and over again. I remember when I first got home with the girls and I envied everyone who got to be down there on the street. I have mixed feelings about them now, less close to envy.

Fireworks are legal in DC, so everyone has some and everyone is setting them off in Malcom X Park. This view of the park in the pinnicale of what Jeff and I always wanted out of living in DC. Two working class kids escaping the suburbs and the country, this was our dream. I love this view, I love this 7th floor room of windows. I have stopped trying to leave it. I feel defeated in this, but also slightly happy that we will stay a little longer. This is selfish because the girls need their own room, but after a few hours of cleaning up, the apartment almost feels liveable for a few more months.

Months. That is how we are living. Let's survive this month. If we just make the money, time, will, stretch one more month, we can maintain our lifestyle. Because there are always windfalls. There is always me getting a part-time job or Jeff getting a raise or something will bring in a little extra money to help us maintain this insanely expensive situation that we are in. I write the check to the daycare and I am horrified at the number. It is time to change this situation, but the how eludes me. I wait for the lightbulb to come on and the answer to reveal itself.

The fireworks go on into the night. When the official ones are going off, we peer out the solarium corner at the Washington Monument, but the angle is all wrong. We don't go up to the roof because there will be too much smoking up there. Even after the official DC fireworks are done ( I know this because I am watching them on TV), the bottle rockets and neighborhood fireworks wake up the girls. I can't imagine loving America enough to do this. I am the worst patriot. Maybe it isn't about America at all, but about blowing crap up. Anya wakes up screaming, so we bring her to bed with us. She kicks me all night long with her tiny feet.

We are almost 1 year old. I wonder where we will be next year for 4th of July. I wonder about the future too much. My girls are changing and I am wasting my time thinking about money and places to live. I need to take a step back.