I sang that song to Sloan this morning. His response?
“Why would someone call a feather macaroni? That’s a weird song.”
He then returned to his ever running loop of humming the theme to Star Wars. So much for teaching him a little piece of Americana.
We had a lovely Fourth of July. But it was missing something. Lee had to fly to Arkansas last minute for the funeral of one of his dearest friends growing up. Not having daddy around definately put a damper on our holiday spirits. And knowing that my husband was grieving and hurting and I couldn’t be there with him made it even worse.
I have to say, I love Fourth of the July. I love the way that it brings everyone together. I love the smell of barbeque, the laughter, the music and the fireworks. I love watching kids run around with Sparklers (other people’s kids – not mine because I don’t quite trust my little piro’s just yet) and I love to hear their delighted shreaks as the sky explodes in flashes of color.
This year, I took the kids to a local park where we enjoyed the company of good friends and ooh’d and aah’d at the fireworks. I was a bit of a kill joy for the kids because I didn’t bring any cash, which means they couldn’t get a drink or a snack or a glow stick or anything at all. Mooooooommmm! (as you read that, let your voice go up about three octaves and stamp your foot and you’ll get an idea of just. how. traumitized the kids were at my lack of preparation.)
We didn’t get home until 10:30, at which point I had to throw the kids in the shower because they smelled like gun powder and mosquito spray. This resulted in us oversleeping Sunday morning. I was singing in church and had to be there at 7:45. I woke up to a quiet house at 7:30. I walked into the church building at 8:05, with all three kids dressed.
I deserve a medal. I nice, shiny medal.
Of course, those 35 minutes went something like this (clap your hands together loudly and repeatedly as you read this next paragraph out loud) – C’mon guys, get dressed. Let’s Go, Go, Go. We’ll brush your teeth after church. I know you’re hungry, I’ll get you something to eat later. There’s no time for a drink, we have to go now, now, now! And so on…
But we made it. And at 8:40, Lee came to church after flying in on the 6:30 am flight. And he brought my starving, neglected children some food. As the kids saw their daddy walk in the building, they took off running toward him and nearly knocked him over as they tackled him. I was on stage with a microphone in my hand and a lump in my throat as I watched them all take turns kissing and hugging on their daddy.
It was the perfect end to a good weekend. I’m a blessed woman.
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