Friday, July 26, 2013

Our Fourth

I know.  The 4th of July was like, so three weeks ago.  

Our girl?  She remembers it like it was yesterday.  We spent the fourth at the beach, and we were back there again this past weekend.  The moment we drown down the main street of the island a little voice in the back pipes up, "Mama?  Why the July party over?"  She asked the same question at least half a dozen more times over the weekend.

You see, the little community association put together a 4th of July parade that day.  It was super basic; just show up with a decorated bike, take two turns around the center pond, and go about your business.  
The girls thought it was the greatest thing ever.  EVER.  

Oh, to have the wondering eyes of a child.  

(These are all SOOC.  Because editing is not on my to-do list right now.  These are about moments, not perfection.)



Annnnd...they're off!

After their 15-minutes of fame (my girl tooted her own horn the entire time...and the rest of the night) we made a quick stop at Sweet Frog for, um, dinner.

Baby elbows.  Swoon.

My dad decorated!
After the kids' dinner, the grown-ups got dinner.  My family has a *slight* obsession with the mussels from a local place called Liquid Assets.  I seriously dream about them.  My mom gets this special gluten-free french bread and we dine like kings.

Now THAT's American!

We went to the tip of the island when the sun started to go down and listened to the far-off echoes of fireworks shooting off all around in Ocean City.  They were a little hard to see because of the hazy humidity, but that made it pretty cool.  A little eerie, actually.  Fireworks always choke me up a little because the fact that they symbolize actually canons and gunfire is a little overwhelming to me.  That night, seeing at times just the flashes of light beneath smoke and mist was so real.  I was thankful to be standing there safe with my little loved family, my husband and dad nearby and the children in no danger.  Too many women just like me have known realities entirely too different.  I'm always thankful for the men who left and died to fight for freedom, but I'm just as thankful for the women who waited at home.  

No comments:

Post a Comment

I love hearing from my readers! Thank you for taking the time to comment. All comments are reviewed before publishing.