Jafta was really excited about the party last year. That is, until the fireworks started. Then he started screaming like a caged animal. He was SO freaked out. We had to go inside, but I must admit, even with the doors closed, our house sounded like a bombing over Bagdad that night. It was LOUD, and it lasted for several hours while my son screamed and cowered in his room. He talked about it for months in vivid, horrified detail. I seriously think he has a little PTSD about it.
So now we are doing what we call, in the world of psychology, systematic desensitization. We talk about the fireworks. A lot. We look at pictures of fireworks. We read books about fireworks (our favorite is Olivia Forms a Band). And now, we’ve moved up to watching movies of fireworks on YouTube.
I hope this works. Otherwise Friday could be a rough day for all of us.
Sara says
I am going to confess to lurking around your blog for a little while. (Can I say that you are HILARIOUSLY witty and very encouraging in your approach to the multi-ethnic family and to adoption in general)?
I do believe that that I read you live in Newport Beach. I was born there, and visit my grandparents there often. Though I would hardly describe Newport as “ghetto,” your bombing-over-Baghdad analogy is no exaggeration. The fourth of July is crazy loud down there! Intolerably loud, even. Don’t they even shut entire streets down so that all the hooligans can come out without risking too much injury when the lights go out? It’s a mad party city on the fourth! Hope you survive it!
Hi Sara! Yes, we live in Costa Mesa . . . the younger, grungier next-door-neighbor of Newport Beach. But the fireworks situation is similiar to Newport. Yikes! Yep, they shut down our street. I guess they don’t want to bother all the drunk people dealing with pyrotechnics.