Strong As a Girl

There has been a lot of talk about strength in our house as of late.  First, "finish strong" was the phrase we kept saying when referring to the end of summer.  We've got to finish strong: keep up the fun, don't give in to the heat or whining of bored kids.  I have to say I failed on that one. I did not finish strong. I kind of gave up and tailed off after the epic road trip and pretended that summer was no longer happening.  Then there was "start strong". We've got to start the school year off organized and with good attitudes and a place for everything and everything in its place.  I did much better on this one including setting up a drop off place for backpacks and school junk in the laundry room. (And by me, I mean Bill.)   And we are always talking about being physically strong and healthy.  Have you seen my husband?  

Close, but Bill has better hair.

This first week of school the prevalent theme was "be strong".  SG was up at 5:45 every morning and at school by 6:30 in order to be at tryouts for volleyball.  She was exhausted each day and each day I told her "You've got this.  Be strong."  And she was strong.  She suited up, she tried and she got her school work done and fell dead asleep each night, worn out from being strong.  I was hoping, and praying, that her being strong would pay off and that she would make the team and see that being strong has its rewards.  Unfortunately, I forgot that being strong isn't always instantly rewarded and unfortunately, she is learning that as well.

I am so sad for her to not make the team and be rewarded right away. I am so disappointed that her show of strength was not crowned with achievement. I hate life teaching her that you can be strong and still not get what you want. She was very sad and I absolutely ache in those moments of parenting when you are comforting them and telling them you are so proud and while your words are nice, they are not enough.  They don't staunch the tears, they don't fill the wound, and they don't make it better.  Parenting is its own test of strength sometimes.

I hate that being strong and trying aren't enough anymore to win a spot on a team.  I hate that they are awarded points for every single exercise they do instead of being looked at individually and in their entirety. I hate that our kids have to be superstar athletes who carry a 4.0+++++ in order to be at the top of anything, or awarded anything, or noticed. I had forgotten how horrible middle school is until we went up there for Athletic sign-up and I was "MOMMMMMMMM!!!"ed at for saying hi to someone who used to be a friend but now isn't a friend.  I broke some sort of social etiquette by saying hello to one of the popular kids.  Sorry, I knew him when he was eight and had a crazy smile and rang our doorbell asking for kids to come out and play.  I had forgotten the social land mines our kids weave in and out of each day.  It makes me think that while I was telling SG each day to be strong, I should have really been telling her how amazed I am at how strong she already is.  I guess I need to tell her that it is also alright to not always be strong.  That it is okay to be vulnerable because being vulnerable can set you up for your next feat of strength or help you recover from the last one.

However, as I was trying to think of how to tell her all this, this amazing girl, while suffering her own disappointment, found enough strength in her to tell a friend who also did not make the team, to not be sad.  She put her own sad aside and told her friend that she did great and tried hard and should be proud of herself because she was proud of her.  It makes me realize that I don't want to be as strong as an ox, or a mule or ten men. I want to be strong as a girl.  My girl.

And the Heat Goes On

Do you live south of Ohio?   Has your will to enjoy summer been replaced with hourly thoughts of how much summer sucks?  Does your forecast look like this?

Notice the 10% chance of rain each day? Lies.

Have you opened the door to go outside and then immediately closed it and sat on the couch defeated?  If you answered yes to one or all of these questions, there is a good chance you are suffering from SAD.  This is not the SAD that people get up north when it is gray and snowing and below zero all winter.  This SAD, or Summer Affective Disorder, affects those of us below the Mason-Dixon line.  SAD can affects everyone, old and young alike, with serious consequences so please, read the following warning signs and see if you, or someone you know, might be suffering from SAD.

Adults: have your plans for a well-rounded summer been compromised by the actual length of summer?  Are math workbooks and flashcards gathering dust and you no longer care if your children know their math facts because there are things like calculators they can use instead?  If so, you may be suffering from SAD.  Does the smell of sunscreen make you nauseous?  Or the thought of applying sunscreen to small bodies yet again fill you with unspeakable rage?  Step away from the SPF, take a deep breath and know you are not alone.  When you speak, are you the only one who can hear your voice?  It is because your children are also suffering from SAD and cannot hear anything you say unless it is "Ice Cream!" or "Yes, you can play video games until your eyes fall out."  Do you no longer care if their eyes fall out from watching TV or playing video games?  If yes, you are definitely suffering from SAD.

Kids: has swimming lost its appeal?  Do cannonballs into tepid water no longer bring the joy they once did?  Does the thought of one more outing with your mom and siblings make you want to cry?  If yes, you too are suffering from SAD.  Is your mother mad at you because you stopped listening to anything she had to say back in July?  Can you no longer even pretend to listen?  Do you walk into a room for something she asked you to get, forget what it was and sit down and get involved with something else?  If yes, don't forget to look hurt and maybe even cry a little when she yells at you later.  You are suffering from SAD and she is yelling?  What kind of parent is she?  Work the tears and gain more video time.

SAD sufferers take heart because you are not alone and there is hope for recovery.  Follow these simple steps and see if the symptoms of SAD alleviate:

1.  don't watch the weather until October.  It is going to be 100 every day.  Rain?  No.  Don't count on it and don't believe the 10% chance they put on there.  It is to keep people from killing the weather man.
2.  stop planning "fun" events.  Nothing is fun when the walk to the car gives you heat stroke.  You did fun, you did it well, stop while you are ahead.
3.  Yes, your children are watching too much TV and playing too many video games but you have all the winter months to shoo them outside and make them be kids.  Refuse to feel guilty.
4.  Kids -every now and then break out a board game.  This will make your mom feel like she has done something right and she will reward you with more screen time.
5.  Count the days, or hours, until school starts.  It is close enough now, this will bring you peace.  This goes for kids as well because it will get them away from a crazy mom and siblings.
6.  It is too hot to cook, so don't.  Grill?  Good Lord, no!  Sandwiches, lots and lots of sandwiches.  (If you cut them on the diagonal it looks like you tried.)


SAD is here and it is real, but sufferers, you are not alone!  Take heart in the woman who screams at her children at the grocery store; at least you scream at yours at home.  Look into the eyes of the fatigued parents surrounding you and know you look the same.  Know that you will be found innocent if you happen to kill someone who says "hot enough for ya?" while smiling.  Little by little by little the heat will abate, children will go to school and the oppression of SAD will lift.  You will want to go outside, you will want to engage in the world around you and you may even want to be fun mom again.  May.  Until then, hole up in your air conditioned house and curse. Curse the weatherman, curse the sun and curse the month of August itself.  This will bring you a small amount of peace and give you the will to go forward.  SAD sufferers we shall overcome!!!

Bastard.

Oh? Canada?

Yes. Canada.  Have you been?  You must.  You absolutely must go and see this country for yourself.  I think I have always been disparaging about Canada because I grew up 20 minutes away from it.  Crossing into Canada was no big deal the entire time I lived in NY state.  As a kid it meant we HAD to wear our seatbelts and not be rude to the border guard and as a young adult crossing in because the drinking age there was 19(!) it meant have a designated driver and don't be rude to the border guard.  Keep all your funny drunk quips to yourself until they wave you through.  Then you can mock Canada and Canadians with your ehs, and hockey and wonder why their dollar bill is really a dollar coin.

Funny thing is that I married a Canadian.  A Canadian I met in Dallas whose family lives two hours away from my NY family.  It was fate for many reasons but this was convenient for visiting purposes as well.  Bill has been in the states as long as I have been in Texas so sometimes it is easy to forget he is Canadian.  He will say "about" like "abooooout" and make me giggle sometimes or grow a little misty when Canada takes gold in something, but I never thought too much about him being Canadian.

My previous Canadian trips had only taken me as far as Guelph and really, that area between the border and Guelph, is not so much different than Western New York.  I also think I have been to Toronto once or twice, but on field trips and in a contained no exploring kind of way.  On our epic road trip this year, we traveled further north in Canada then I have ever been and I will say that I am disparaging of Canada no more.  I am in awe.  Oh Canada indeed.

Rolling, green, bucolic.

Canada is lush.  It is verdant. It is bucolic.  It is green and vast and rolling.  You drive by farm after farm after farm and wonder how anyone in the world can be starving.  Bill pointed out the huge farms are probably growing soybeans for industrial meat raising, but they were still gorgeous.  Our road to his sister's house by Golden Lake took us through Algonquin Park.  Yes, the only way to her house was through a national park.  60km of trees and lakes and hills and scenery that made you humble.  It made your heart and eyes ache to look at how beautiful nature can really be.  It was birch trees peeling along the side of the road and pine trees growing higher than any tree in Texas knows about.  We kept an eye out for moose for SG and while we didn't see a moose, we did see a mama bear and three cubs.  I was not scared, I was only amazed.  And the air?  It smells clean.  Clean like a rain shower when it hasn't even rained or like pine needles on a soft dirt ground.  We got so used to clean that let's just say crossing into Detroit was a wake up for sure! SG asked what that smell was and Bill commented "That is America."

Our accommodations: family of five, no waiting.

We stayed with Bill's sister for three days and three nights and in those three days and nights I have seen my husband more at peace and happy than I think I have ever seen him.  He was home.  He was canoeing and kayaking and teaching his kids how to do the same.  SG took to the kayak like a natural.  My anxious girl was whipping through the waters of Bonnechere like a pro.  We hiked up a mountain that was actually a mountain and where we had to boost ourselves over rocks and stop to see if we were on the path or not.  Bill decided the path wasn't actually enough for him and led us bushwhacking up to the tip, tip, top of Blueberry Mountain.  We had spooked a deer so my heart was in my throat knowing that a bear and a wolf had to be next. (yes, I am sure they travel in threes like that) We tried out new things and all were a success!  I had my first poutine (fries with gravy and cheese curds) and wonder how I got to be 40 without trying it before.  My son, the boy with 20/60 vision in one eye and no depth perception to speak of, is a champion knife thrower. That child stood and threw knives at a wooden target for hours until he got it.  The teen insisted on showering and wearing full make-up everyday but even she got into a canoe and led us in song around the campfire.  The stars at night were beyond plentiful and I saw my first shooting star, and then my second and my third.  We listened to the bullfrogs croak, a little incessantly I have to say, and animals splash into the dark water and the eerie call of the loons.  I think we may have even heard a wolf howl.

Look, so clear the trees reflect in it!

 Our time in Canada may have been short, but I learned so many things while we were there.  I learned what it is like to see my husband in a place where he is not the square peg trying to fit in a round hole. I learned that when there is nature in abundance, kids are so happy they forget about connecting to the Wifi.  I learned that my husband's family is made up of amazing, loud, funny, outspoken and multi-dimensional people I want to see more than every six years.  I learned that Canada is not just Northern America; it is it's own amazing country and I feel bad for not giving it any credit over the years.  Yes, the metric system is confusing and Celsius is weird, but as far as preserving what they have and living in harmony with their surroundings, they have us beat and beat badly.  

It was hard to leave and especially hard on Bill.  I feel like he left a piece of his soul there in the canoe on the Bonnechere.  Sure,we can canoe Town Lake with the 7000 other people some weekend but it won't be the same.  There is a peace and a quiet and a soul refreshing contentment that you can only find in Canada.  It will be too long until our next visit and we want to try it in the winter.  I am afraid if we went in the fall and the Bonnechere was lit with red, orange and gold trees I would never leave.  I would give it all up to live in a little cabin on Muriel and Butch's land and watch the trees in their glory and listen to the bullfrogs at night.  I'd watch Bill do a million things I never even knew he could do and watch him smile as he did them.  I'd watch my girl skim along the river in her kayak with her hair flowing and her face taken up with her smile and listen to the thunk of knives hitting their target as the boy throws them over and over and think oh,Canada indeed.   

We Took the One Less Traveled By

You know what is beautiful?  The shores of the Bonnechere River in Canada.

Beautiful, right?

You know what is not beautiful?  Five McMahons after traveling over 2000 miles to get home from the Bonnechere to Austin.  That was a road trip to end all road trips in that all of us now refuse to drive anywhere again.

We left Canada at 11am Saturday morning and hit home at 1am on Monday morning.  38 hours from one door to the next and only 5 of those hours not in the car.  Yes, the road broke even Bill this time and we stopped for an unprecedented sleep break in Terre Haute, IN.  We stopped for sleep, but none of us brought in a change of clothes, or deodorant or even a toothbrush. Why?  Because everything was jammed up and piled in the back and no one knew exactly where anything was and trying to figure it out would cost us time.  We were as ugly and smelly as we get and I think they probably had to deep clean the rental car after we brought it back.  Seriously, my teeth felt like someone had knit individual socks for them and every time I moved my arms I wished I did not have a tank top on.

Usually the road only claims SG and I.  We can only take so many hours of enclosed spaces and not being in control and we have a quiet cry or a full on freak out.  As I mentioned, it claimed Bill in IN.  I started pleading to stop for the night the minute we crossed into IN.  SG was hallucinating by Detroit.  Maizy stopped talking and went stony in Missouri and then it was OK that broke our boy.  Our stalwart, happy boy sat in the way back with tears streaming down his face as he realized that crossing into TX did not mean we were home yet.  

We did not plan this part of the trip very well because no one wanted to think about it.  We knew it was going to be long, crazy long, and it was overwhelming to plan for.  We waited way too long to get food and ended up in Toldeo, OH at 10pm looking for dinner and finding everything closed due to toxic water.  I think we found a Taco Bell open at about midnight and my stomach still hurts from that.  Our last gas station stop was in Plano, TX.  Three hours from home, not a brain cell left among us and the gas station lady wants to engage us in conversation.  Loud, non-stop conversation about how to make Chex Mix at home. I wanted to stab her with my Kind bar.  All we want is to cash out and get out of there and she wants to make friends. I still hate her.

Being on the road that long gives you a road hangover when you get back.  You are tired, you are lethargic, your stomach hurts from all the junk food you ate and you move about it an haze.  Poor Bill and Maizy had to go back to work on Monday.  I think Bill got about four hours of sleep.  I would have laid on the floor and sobbed if I had to go to work.  As it was, I spent the day doing about 10 hours of laundry and falling asleep any time I sat down.

There was some fun built into that ridiculously long ride.  We laughed and laughed at things that were said.  We mocked that gas station lady well into Waco.  We talked, we sang, we were together as a family in a way we are not when we are home. We were trapped in hell, but we were trapped together.  We saw seven states and one province.  We saw rivers and lakes filled to the top and trees taller than I remember trees growing.  We saw places in Canada that were so beautiful you couldn't even talk while driving through them.  We saw farms in Ontario that were so green and lush and enormous they make you think no one in the world should be starving.  We saw huge cities and tiny towns.  We saw two countries from the windows of our dirty, smelly car whiz by.


It is amazing to think of all the miles we have driven over the past two weeks. (SG, the boy and I have 1500 additional miles from the week before.)  Road trips bring out the very best and very worst of us.  One of my favorite moments was when I made SG laugh, and I mean laugh where her head was thrown back and she was gasping for air and when she got some she said "I love you Mom.  And I like you too".  High praise from a preteen I will carry in my heart.   Overall, this ridiculously long road trip was worth it.  It was worth trapping the 16 year old with a dead phone in with us and hearing all the things she finally says.  It was worth breaking the boy's spirit a little if it means he learns how to overcome his disappointment.    And it was definitely worth the 3.5 days on the banks of the Bonnechere.  So while I say I will never road trip again, I know I will. However, next time I will make sure to put extra deodorant and toothbrushes in the glove compartment.

Little House in the Middle of a Road Trip

I am not at all exaggerating when I say I had chills up and down my spine and that I had to blink back tears when I stood in the middle of Laura Ingalls Wilder's (LIW) farmhouse kitchen.  How I ended up browbeating a docent to get me in there and why I reacted like a total fangirl is a long story.

I was here!!!

Once upon a time there was a young girl who grew up in the late 70's and 80's.  They did not have cable TV or iPods or video games back then so she played outside and read a lot of books for fun.  Yes, for fun.  One of the first chapter books she picked out for herself was "Little House on the Prairie".  She chose it because it was big and because it still had pictures in it.  Once she cracked open the spine and started reading about the Ingalls family, she was hooked. She wanted to be Laura and she wanted to travel in a covered wagon across the prairie and listen to Pa play his fiddle at night.  She soon read all the books in succession and a favorite game of hers to play was "Long Winter".  She would stockpile pine cones and helicopter seeds on the front porch to make sure they would survive until the train could get through.  She made her friends join and take turns playing Mary or Carrie or Grace, but never Laura.  She was Laura.  She had brown hair she wished was golden like Laura.  She had a perfect older sister(s) like Laura, and she was trouble, just like Laura.

This girl exclaimed when prairie style was in fashion and happily wore ruffled shirts and calico skirts.  She dressed up as LIW for Halloween and just about every day after school, again, for fun.

Perfectly dressed as LIW for a combo birthday/Halloween party

Even as a child she scoffed at those who thought they knew LIW from the TV show.  Ha!  Mere amateurs in LIW facts and knowledge.  Wonder why you don't remember reading about Albert and his heroin addiction in the books?  Oh, I don't know, maybe because there was NO Albert and they weren't shooting heroin on the plains.  Drinking laudanum perhaps, but there weren't a whole lot of syringes lying around on the homestead back then.

Slowly prairie style clothes made way for shoulder pads and Madonna inspired fashion and little girls grow up and play at being a teenager instead of pioneer girls.  And while this little girl stopped dressing as LIW, she never did outgrow her fascination for her.  She read everything LIW wrote as well and everything she could find written about her.  Obsession?  No, because it is not creepy.  Weird fascination?  Agreed.

So now our little girl is grown up and traveling thousands of miles cross country with two captive children and the LIW homestead in Mansfield, MO almost on their direct route.  Absolutely they are going.  And when they stop and she sees the sign proclaiming "Laura Ingalls Wilder Museum and Home" her heart is POUNDING.  It is all she can do to not fall to her knees and weep but she has already embarrassed her children by bringing them here and she doesn't want to scare the other tourists.  They head into the museum and what is the first thing she sees?  PA'S FIDDLE!  Right there, dead center!  She throws money at the women for their admission and runs, truly runs, to the fiddle and presses her nose against the glass case.  PA's FIDDLE!  Her oldest child takes in the crazy and quickly steers the younger one away.  But wait, she is not done exclaiming and oohing and shaking because there is PA's BIG GREEN BOOK OF ANIMALS!!  And a dress that LIW MADE AND WORE?!  She is torn between running amok and staring entirely too long at each piece of memorabilia.

Now her daughter insists that she browbeat the docent into giving them a tour of the house, but all she will admit to is staring entirely too long at the woman until everyone was uncomfortable and the docent finally agreed to getting up and opening the farmhouse for them.  This docent only has the BEST job in the world and she was ruining it by not being dressed in pioneer clothes.  I forgave her as she unlocked the door and let me into the place where my childhood idol cooked and ate.

So there I was in Laura's house.  And it was tiny and old and perfect.  The docent rattled off stories about LIW but I knew them all.  Counters low?  Yep, LIW was tiny.  Windows by the place she made bread? Yep, LIW hated kneading dough and would look out windows.  Puh-lease!  Tell me something I don't know.  She never did; crazy fangirl knew all the stories.

We went through the house and saw all the rooms except upstairs as it was roped off with the typical fascist velvet ropes that come with American history.  Personally I think that as a history major I should be allowed access behind all velvet ropes.  I won't touch, I just want to look.  Even though not being allowed upstairs was disappointing, somehow standing in LIW's house filled up a part of my childhood soul.  I stood where Laura stood!  I looked out Laura's windows!  I smiled ear to ear with complete and utter happiness and my children seized on my lunacy and we hit up the giftshop.  Twig pencils?  Yes, need them.  Postcards?  All.  Dr. Peppers?  Yes and all around.  Bonnets?  I was tempted but only because I have reached the age I really should wear a hat in the sun.

I remember being sad as a kid when I learned that LIW was dead and I couldn't write to her about how much I loved her books and how they gave me a place to escape to.  Pretending to be LIW took up so much of my childhood that it was truly, truly thrilling to see the things she wrote about, the things I pretended I owned or endured. I do not think that the thrill extended to my children though.  They were good sports but the boy said he enjoyed the Dr. Pepper the best.  SG's eyes light up when she retells the story of how I browbeat the docent into giving us the tour. I just think I was embodying LIW's feisty spirit and showing my kids how a woman can be strong and purposeful.  And demanding.  I can't wait until I figure out a way to get us all into South Dakota and make a side trip to De Smet to see another of Laura's house.  I will write ahead and warn the docents that I don't give a fig about their scheduled tours, they are letting me in.

And I Will Drive 1,547 Miles and Bill Will Drive 2,134 More

I was trying to be quippy coming up with this title and I think the quip is on me.  I knew I was planning a long road trip.  I knew that those states we click through and those places we visit will be far apart from each other, but 1,547 miles as the only driver plus an additional 2,134 miles to get into Canada and then all the way back home has me gasping for air.  GASP.  I doubt I have ever tried to figure out how many miles it is when we drive and I will never do it again. 

Just keep driving, just keep driving.

We always drive.  Having five people to get from Point A to Point B is expensive and a road trip is generally the most economical choice.  We have driven back and forth from Texas to Buffalo so many times I don't remember the last time we even used a map.  The craziest part?  We usually drive straight through.  Twenty four hours door to door and the McMahons stop for food and bathrooms but never to stay the night.  We have had luxurious trips in vans and in a Durango.  We once drove with three small kids and two car seats in a Saab.  That was not a bad trip.  The Saab is a piece of good Swedish engineering and my packing for that trip was a piece of good German upbringing: organized, functional and rotated at each stop. Our worst road trip ever, EVER, was in the Jeep Wrangler.  Three kids, Bill and I and one dog shook our way from Texas to NY and back. SG and I both had panic attacks at separate times from being shaken across state lines and Bill had to scare off a menacing man at a gas station in Nowhere, TN at two a.m. with a lighter and the nozzle from a gas pump.  "Step away or I'll light it" is not something you should ever wake up to.

Our kids are road trip warriors.  We have even made this trip more than once with no video.  NO video! (I am no purist; usually it was because of technology problems.)  They survived.  They looked out the window and enjoyed the interstate/were bored to death.  I will admit that we have an entire bag devoted to technology this trip.  They are bigger and whine louder now.  They know that everyone attempts to use the bathroom at each stop whether they think that have to go or not.  Mandatory bathroom usage at each stop is a given.  They know we are weak on road trips and buy all kinds of garbage that they never eat at home.  Pop-Tarts and Swedish Fish anyone?

Bill and I are pros at this as well.  We know that all the good snacks will be eaten before we even get out of Texas.  In fact, one of them will be rummaging in the snack bag before we even back out of the driveway.  We know that at least one child will lose a shoe under the carnage of road trip entertainment at every stop.  I believe that there is a wanted poster of me at a Cracker Barrel outside Memphis for giving up and taking a shoe-less baby W in on a rainy night.  Every woman in that place yelled at me.  You try and find a teeny tiny shoe under hours of discarded toys and food wrappers.  We know that for children doing nothing but sitting for hours, their feet will smell up the entire car.  We know where to stop and not stop, we know Bill will drive all but an hour or so and I know he is fake sleeping for that hour just so I let him drive again.

This year we are changing it up a little and I am nervous/excited.  SG, the boy and I are heading out a week early and making a circuitous trip north.  First Tulsa to visit a friend and then onto Mansfield, MO to see the LAURA INGALLS WILDER MUSEUM!!!!! I would talk about how excited I am about that, but I can't as it would fill a whole blog itself.  After MO, we are back on the road to get to Gurnee, IL to see my sister.  A few days with her and then we are headed to Buffalo.  Bill and Maizy will fly up and meet us there and then all five of us head to Canada.  Whew!  Crazy right? Yes.  Total insanity that I can't wait to begin!

Oh, did I mention the bulk of this trip will be done in a Prius?  Why?  Well because that is what we own and if it costs me $100 to put gas in between here and Buffalo, that will be a lot.  Yes, it is a small car.  

No, it does not come with clowns.

Yes, its pick-up is lackluster.  Yes, I often think that others view the color of our car as invisible instead of black.  Really, it is not a McMahon road trip if we all don't suffer just a little and what better way to suffer than a tiny car and not-so-tiny kids?  Our kids have it easy: they don't have to walk to school, they don't have to adjust rabbit ears to watch TV, they don't know what a busy signal is and they won't even know the excruciating pain of waiting for their sibling to get off the phone because they are waiting for a call. We are helping them build character with these trips.  Either that or we are ensuring they make good career choices and can fly anywhere they want when they are the grownups.  Win - win, right?

Yankee Doodle Dandy

I love the Fourth of July.  It ranks third in my list of favorite holidays.  I like that it is not celebrating the fact that I am aging like birthdays do. I like that I don't have to buy presents for anyone.  I like that if people are getting together that it is for BBQ or picnic or easy food with little fuss.  I like that people take time to make red, white and blue desserts.  

BOOM!

Small town America does the 4th right: parades, carnie rides and fireworks.  My hometown of Lancaster, NY does the 4th especially right: parade, carnie rides, fireworks AND beer tent!  Beer tent!  Outside bar with all of your family (minus kids) and people you knew in high school?  Yes.  Who cares if the beer is some sort of Genesee draft and you will pay for it tomorrow? It is the 4th and it is a beer tent!

My BFF in high school lived where we could walk to the parade, where we could walk to downtown and her house was abuzz every year on the 4th.  Her house was packed with family, friends, and acquaintances streaming in and out as they came from the festivities.  I always loved being included in that random assortment of people; tolerated as a younger teenager and included as a young adult.  It was generally the highlight of my summer.

We have been home a few times on the 4th so my kids can experience it and it is fun to watch their excitement and see how it mirrors the memories of my own.  They line up with their cousins on the street and wait for the fire trucks to throw penny candy at them.  They clap for the bands and wave at the politicians in convertibles and yell for them to throw more candy.  They are hot and sticky and drink sugary drinks and chase them with Popsicles and mouthfuls of candy.  They are excited and hyper but they can play outside all day because while it is hot, it is not 100+ hot and there is a garden hose to drink from or spray them with.

I made myself sad on 4ths in the past trying to find somewhere to recreate my small town experience.  Now I just appreciate the day for what it is; an extra day off for those that work and a reason to celebrate on a weekday for those home for the summer.  It is getting together with friends and being relaxed and easy about it when you do.  Maybe some swimming, maybe some hot dogs (tofu dogs), and maybe some sparklers as we wait for the fireworks to start.  


The other thing I realized when I stopped trying to make every 4th like the ones growing up is that the 4th is one day where it is okay to be an American.  It is one day where we wear our red, white and blue and do it with gusto.   We are not encouraged to be proud of being Americans anymore.  The world laughs and tells us that we suck at math and science. We dig through the facts we learned in history class and realize that America was actually home to a lot of misogyny, racism and genocide.  Ouch.  We forget that it is okay to be proud of the town you live in even when your sports team isn't the winner.  I can't say that is true for the state because I live in Texas and by God, this state has enough pride for ten other states at well.  I watch kids mumble through the Pledge of Allegiance or Olympic athletes forget the words to the national anthem 1/3 of the way in and think it is normal.  Until the 4th.  Until we all remember that we are Americans!  And it is not about the rich, white men who signed the Declaration of Independence.  It is about our grandparents who came through Ellis Island with a few dollars in their pocket and a few words of English.  Men and women who were so happy to be in America that they forbid their own children to learn Italian, or German or Polish.  It is about the people today crossing deserts and open oceans and risking their life on the belief that it will be better in America.  It might not, but it is the idea, that belief, that optimism that we celebrate on the 4th.  That one day where we remember what it is to be proud of the place we call home.   One day when we let our lives be part of something bigger than our own agendas and feel part of something around us.  One day when we truly believe that we are "one nation, under God" and don't think about who we are offending when we think it.  Give me an old man removing his baseball cap and placing it over his heart when he hears the tinny sound of "The Star Spangled Banner" start playing and I will give you misty eyes.  Add a small boy who copies that move and I will give you leaky tears for sure. And I know I won't be the only one.

I am not sure what our plans are exactly for tomorrow.   I plan on wearing some red, white and blue and braving some crowds and being surrounded by Americana.  I will watch toddlers melt down in red-faced tantrums and listen to my own kids beg for Sno-Cones and lemonade and offer them my warm water bottle instead.  I will watch families fight to park and fight over who carries what over to watch fireworks.  I will think it is way too hot for humans to be outside and slap mosquitoes in annoyance. Dusk will find us crashing our friend's well-stocked picnic and sitting on blankets by too many other people.  But that is okay because we are all proud to be Americans today and the Americana music will start and it will get dark and fireworks will explode and people will ooh and ahh with contentment.   I will watch the fireworks reflected in my kids' wide and happy eyes and think that once again, this is the highlight of my summer.