Originally from July 5, 2016
It’s the Tuesday after the 4th of July. Tuesday, Tuesday. My fingers itch to write but my brain is foggy, drawing blanks and truly just recovering from a busy night before.
Yesterday began as the worst 4th of July ever.
Not really. No one got hurt, we were fine.
At times, many time, most times, introverted me craves being alone, nestled in with this family of mine, protected from the outside world. I long for quiet and slowness. But then I get it and I’m antsy. Deep in my bones I needed to be out there celebrating with people. It was a national holiday, after all. I needed people. Real people. Images of people attending 4th of July parades via Instagram wasn’t cutting it. The 4th is for family, and if not family, friends, better yet both.
How I longed to be surrounded by family and friends at a BBQ or picnic with checked picnic tablecloths in black or red and watermelon, lots of watermelon. I don’t like watermelon, but I should because yesterday was the 4th of July. Watermelon is the fruit of the 4th and the entire summer. It’s what you eat.
I finally went to my parents’ house with the kids to drop off cookies. They had plans later on. Emily and Greg baked Icebox Pinwheel Cookies for the cousins arriving tomorrow from Tennessee. We stopped at Fred Meyer.
Then home again, where we watched a movie and ate BBQ hotdogs and hamburgers served without black or red checked tablecloths. We watched Harry and the Hendersons, the five of us piled on the rust colored couch with Chloe moving from lap to lap, trying to find the coziest spot amongst us. It was a stupid movie, but one I enjoyed as a child. Like all things ridiculous, it was made funny through the eyes of three children.
We were about to watch a second family movie, after all, it was too early and light for fireworks, when Steven asked if we could play baseball. I don’t like sports, but something inside of me wanted, needed, to get out, move my body, laugh and play.
The five of us, and the dog of course, ended up in the backyard and having the best time, being alive, moving our bodies, laughing into the night. It wasn’t perfect. Lauren spit on Steven. Steven lost his temper. No one wanted poor Emily to pitch. I accidently hit Steven in eye with a (rather soft) ball. But we were a family, together, an imperfect family, playing baseball together on the 4th of July.
