We took Samang to the beach on Friday, and except for a brief period when she screamed to let us know that she hates sunscreen being applied to her wiggly little body, we had a kickass time. And then some self-righteous prick from the Parks Department came over to tell us that we couldn’t have a tent on the beach. The tent in question was this, which at least three lifeguards and two other Parks Department flunkies had walked past and ignored prior to Officer Prick. It’s not a tent, dude, it’s a baby shelter. No adults can sleep in it, we were obviously using it to keep the baby out of the sun while she napped. So we packed up early, made a stop at my house and a stop at Jordana’s house so all the adults could shower and get the sand off our bodies, and then headed down to Coney Island for the fireworks.

And then we made a miraculous discovery. Samang likes fireworks. We had put a lightweight blanket over her ears to protect her hearing from the explosions, and that part she didn’t like. She had just screwed up her face to start crying when the first firework went off. She opened her eyes to see what it was and was spellbound for the next twenty minutes. I spent more time watching her than I did the fireworks display because it was just so much fun to see her enjoying them. We may have to take her back this week to see them again.

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