"Can you see the fireworks, little one?" Barry hoisted Jamie up into position on our bedroom windowsill.
"Oh, yes! They're over there." Jamie pointed, bouncing up and down with excitement. "And there are more! And more! And maybe that one's red. More and more! They go 'Zeeeeeeoooooooow', and then there's a bang. Crackle, crackle! Sparkle, sparkle!"
Exactly three years ago, I was in that same bedroom, though with somewhat less furniture, vastly less assorted clutter, and fifty per cent fewer children. We weren't due to move into the house for another three days, but it had a good view of the local firework displays and so we took the chance to spend Bonfire Night there. It was one of those wonderful heartfull moments, with the three of us snuggled up together on the bed and Barry and I having one of our few chances for a peaceful chat about inconsequentia. I thought contentedly of the Bonfire Nights we would enjoy similarly in the years to come. And here we are in one of those years, with Jamie now almost four and his little sister now a part of the family, balanced on my hip as I stood behind him. As treasured moments go, it was a lot less quiet and peaceful and a lot more bouncy than the moment I'd treasured three years ago at that time. But there it was, one of the future Bonfire Nights I'd anticipated, one of the magic moments I'd looked forward to; and I am pleased to report that I am every bit as happy with my life now as I'd believed then that I would be.