7 quick takes

Its a Conversion Diary party again…

1 & 2. I tried to explain the history of America:

The memory of the terror in his face last year motivated me to talk about it early and often.
“Just because it sounds like bullets from a big angry gun, doesn’t mean it actually is,” I tried explaining. “But, for the record July 4th is the ONLY day when things that sound like bullets shouldn’t be feared.”
“But, what are the big booms for?” he asked.
“There used to be a bad king who stole all of our money,” I spoke on my feet fast. “And we fought him, in a revolution.”
“A remmolation? because he’s a bad guy? And we got the money back?”
“Yes, he was a bad guy….let’s talk about the money later.”
“Is Jesus a part of this?”

3 & 4. Despite my valiant effort in explaining their purpose, preparedness in warning their sound, and side by side proximity in the moments leading up to nightfall, in the exact moment of the first “boom” a glow stick exploded in Josie’s mouth. There had been approximately 6,879,986 warnings to “get that out of your mouth!” in between adult conversations and somewhere around 5 million children running about, so, its really more my fault than hers. Thankfully, whomever invented such fun glow in the dark material, made it taste disgusting, even to a two year old, so I’m leaning towards positive on the 100 swooshes and spits in the sink did the prevent the poison trick. Additionally, the “oh don’t worry, mine did that last week, its not poisonous” fellow mom #56 mom reinforcement eased my crazy. Just as we swooshed and spit at the kitchen sink, fellow mom #58 came running in balancing two- no longer arm holding size- children, one of them hers, one of them mine. His monkey crying face indicated that no matter how many times we discussed the bad king and booms in the sky, fireworks terrify him. Little sister #1 danced and leaped for joy at every sparkling burst in between attempts to sneak attack steal more glow sticks, as Little sister #2 never once woke up from her peaceful baby slumber. Maybe next year, James.


5 & 6. I went back and forth struggling throughout the day in my sometimes over- reflective mind about the meaning of Patriotism in a convoluted political environment, with scary policies, scary leaders, and where in the world does all this money go?! I dawned a red, white, and blue outfit, because America is my home, and its truly one of the most flattering color schemes of all nationalities. But, deep down in the pit of my conscience, the hope for the future of what was fought for long ago, seems far out of reach. And then, there I was, attempting to eat homemade cheesecake with one hand, while keeping Rita from eating it for me with the other, discussing the second year anniversary of the international adoption of a family member from a country that no longer allows Americans to protect and love their children as a result of one of the most dismally depressing overseas legislation of all. As I heard her dad dream and plan to adopt her brother in the midst of the difficulty and red tape, as she giggled and climbed on the swing set alongside my redwhiteandblue toddler duo, the meaning of the day resonated with every hopeful word he spoke.

7. God Bless America, especially its babies.

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