Fireworks in November (The second in a series of catching-up posts)

The Fourth of July has taken a new meaning to me.  Two years ago on the 4th was the first time I walked all by myself to the park after battling the blood clots and spending many months immobile.  It was long and slow, and on the return trip Guy had to get the car and pick me up.  But I had mostly done it.  I sent a text to Dr. F. that night announcing my accomplishment.  He told me it was the best birthday present he'd gotten that year.

The next year on the 4th I ran a 5K with the support of Kathy and Danielle.  I sent a picture to Dr. F. of us at the finish line.  He cheered from a distance.

This year was just a regular 4th.  I texted Dr. F., sharing my gratitude with him over my ability to have a regular anything.  I just wished him a happy birthday and told him thanks for keeping me alive.  He humbly deflected the credit, and in a way he is right.  It wasn't all him.  Besides the many others who cared for me, it was a loving God that decided to let me be here for another year.  I very much acknowledge his hand in all things in my life.

This may be Independence Day, 

but for me it is the day I celebrate

 that I am dependent on him.

Photo Bomb!

Two peas... always together.

The little kid's table.  We are running out of little kids!

Guy's yummy Thai pulled pork sandwiches with ginger mayo and Mexican corn.

Red, white and, um, well, kind'a purple, actually.

Now that's what I call blue.

When all else fails, use food coloring.  Lot's of it.

The kids and I made new shirts this year. 

 Ellie did her's solo, and with perfect precision.

Off to the fireworks! 

Next Up... Camping!!!

The 4th - Revisited

So, it's been a while since I got all foody up in here.  My kids have taken to saying "Mom, should you take a picture of your food?" before we start eating if they think it is a particularly nice looking plate.  Lest ye think we eat well all the time, I confess that last night the kids ate frozen waffles at about 9PM for dinner.  Wasn't the first time, won't be the last.

But on the 4th we laid a particularly patriotic palate-pleaser that deserves some technicolor attention.  Guy made a great thin sliced pork with Asian Sweet Chili sauce and served it on artisan bread with white cheddar and his own creation of ginger mayo.  The combination was amazing.  He paired all of that heaven-in-your-mouth with bacon potato salad and corn on the cob- Mexican style (with spicy mayo and grated Romano cheese on top).  

Kathy brought an American flag made of fruit skewers and a gorgeous mango and strawberry green salad in a strawberry vinaigrette.  We even made little blue star ice cubes.  It was so patriotic, we had to eat the whole dinner standing up, just out of respect.

 For dessert I got all tricky.  

I made a cake I saw on Pinterest.

Well, I tried anyway.

The outside was pretty simple... partly because I am lame and started late so there was no time to be fancy, and partly because it was the Leaning Tower of Pisa right out of the gate.  If the Italians are interested, they may be able to make their tipsy tower appear to be balanced correctly by piling a mountain of frosting on the low side.  

Yes, simple outside, but the inside was a tushy-load of work.  And I didn't notice until just now that I somehow got my layers wrong at the top with two reds and no white in between.  Also, it was a huge pain in the keister to make, and nothing went as easily as the tutorial let on it would.

Curse you, Pinterest Scum!

First off, when making red velvet cake, please plan for your kitchen to look like a crime scene.  It's not red, it's somebody-call-an-ambulance red.  Also, don't think the toothpick is going to come out "clean" when the cake is all done.  It will come out looking like you stabbed the cake in a fit of jealous rage.  I don't want to even think about how much food coloring was in this thing.  It's vanity I tell you, plain and simple.

(Peeps and eats)

We fed the good people of the town, including Jensens, Dave, Dan and the Missionaries, some of whom were so gorgeous and/or handsome that they made my camera go all blurry and could not be photographed.  We sat after dinner and listened to Dan tell some great stories (I love Dan), and before long it was time to head off to the fireworks.

There is always a band playing at the park before the show, and after we get glow-bands on the kids, I always take them up to the front of the stage.  We slam dance like we are in a mosh pit.  Well, we don't really, but Tessa and Kaylee danced with me a little while Ellie shyly looked on.  Owen cracked a smile once, and Jonah just yelled "toooooo loooooud!"

Natalie wasn't bothered by the fireworks show at all, even sitting right below it in the park, and though I started with my hands on her ears, she soon pulled them off.  Jonah pulled his third repeat performance of sleeping through the show.  I know whenever I hear "the bombs bursting in air", I think "nap time", don't you?  There is nothing that says nighty-night like a crowd of a thousand people cheering to the sonic boom of a grand finale.  I say it every year, but I think this was the best one yet.

Sweet dreams.

This 4th of July (A Photo Album)

Guy strikes again... white chocolate strawberries dipped in sugar.

 

We headed out on foot just before dusk to go see the fireworks show at the nearby park.  It was apparent after two house-lengths that I would slow the group down too much if I walked the whole way, so Guy drove me as close as he could get in the van and I got out and began walking.  I slowly made my way as the crowd moved past me like a stream flowing around a rock.  I got a text from Caroline, my youngest sister, wishing me a happy 4th.  I don't know about her, but the 4th really reminds me of being with family, and of one 4th in particular.

 

I was about 10.  My folks were cooking in anticipation of meeting up with our friends, the Kojima's, who had 5 kids.  We were running late, and so to expedite things, my dad tried to loosen the seal on the pressure cooker full of corn-on-the-cob when it was done cooking. 

It exploded.

 

The sound was deafening, and there were screams and yelling.  We kids ran to the kitchen's swinging door but mom yelled at us to stay out.  The cooker had blown its heavy lid straight into the air and the contents of the pot followed.  The scalding water and corn hit my dad right in the face and bare chest on their way up, hit the ceiling, and came right back down on top of his shoulders and back.  Mom, who stood a few feet behind him, was blasted in the face and neck.  She ran to get burn cream, as my dad ran to the huge utility sink on the back porch, flipping the faucet on and plunging his head under the flow of water.  In his confusion and pain, he had grabbed the hot water faucet, and didn't know he was holding his head under the hot water until my mother stopped him.

 

He spent 5 days in the hospital.  His face turned black.  The end of his nose came off.  For years after that particular 4th of July, we reflected on the chaos of that year.  It was a gentle reminder to be grateful that we had moved past that day, that the fear of it was behind us, and that everyone was well.

 

*****

 

As I slowly made my way to the park last night, I thanked my sister via text for the well wishes, and told her I was walking on my own power to the park.  She wrote back, "That's awesome!  Enjoy tonight, it's great that you are alive!  I was thanking God for that today.  This could be a different holiday for the whole family if things went the other way for you or the baby."

 

I felt a little misty, but I held it back.

I sat on a boulder and rested while I waited for my family,

the throngs of merry-makers cruising past me.

 

Later, as the night sky lit up with fireworks and patriotic songs played, I sat and let the tears come.  I hadn't thought beyond the gut wrenching possibility of leaving Guy and the kids alone.  In the hospital I had talked to Guy about it; that I wanted him to find a mom for my kids, to fall in love and be happy, to enjoy his life.  I hadn't thought about the impact it would have on the rest of my family, the feeling at holidays that we know so well since mom left;  that hollow of someone being missing, year after year after year.

 

I wet the top of Natalie's head with my tears as she bellowed from the fireworks.  I glanced around at my family, their eyes fixed skyward at the display,  and I felt so immensely grateful to be viewing them there, from my chair on the grass beside them; part of them.

 

For me, this 4th of July

was 

thanksgiving.

 

 

Our neighbors rented a 20 foot tall water slide. 

 Happy, happy kids!

 

 

Bathing beauties

 

Natalie, showing off one of her TWO pass-times;

sleeping and screaming her head off.

 

Airborne!

All dolled up for the festivities.

 

I had to include another shot of these...

 they were just too beautiful to eat, but we did!

 

A craft project with the Jensen clan.

(Tessa, Kaylee, Owen and Ellie)

 

 

Jonah and Lauren

 

BBQ with Jensen's and Bush's!

 Yum!

Super-baby!

 

Watching the sky... about 12 seconds before

Jonah fell sound asleep, just like last year!

 

Kathy and Bishop with baby Ryan.  Can someone please explain how babies wake up if you tiptoe into the room while they're asleep, but can saw logs through a Grand Finale?

 

Ellie, Tessa, Lauren and Kaylee

 

Natalie, looking just as she did through the entire fireworks show, even though I held her close and kept my hands over her little ears.  She is one little lady who lets you know how she feels!



Proud to be an American

 The 4th is a favorite around here.  We don't do anything spectacular, but we did bar-b-que, watch "The Music Man" and go to see the fireworks.  This year's show was different, because they didn't play all of the patriotic music I am used to, like the 1812 Overture.  

I missed it.  Right up till the end.

The last song they played for the finale was "Proud to be an American".  

As soon as the chorus started, a swell of voices came up from the crowd, 

and everyone around me was singing.  

"I'm proud to be an America, where at least I know I'm free

and I won't forget the men who died 

who gave that right to me."

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I listened.  I thought of the first Sunday after 9-11 when I heard that song with different ears.  I thought of our friends, the Roberts, whose son Derek died in Iraq 4 years ago.

I thought of all the brave men and women who have stood up for what is right in the face of tyranny and death since the first weary sea-farers tumbled onto the shores of freedom.

I know our county's history has it's dark corners.  I know that not every choice has been made in the name of a righteous cause.  But I also know, having lived in another country, what a rare and precious thing the freedom we enjoy here truly is.  We are blessed so much, we sometimes forget what it took to get us here.

I am grateful to God that he saw fit to guide brave men to follow the convictions of their hearts to establish this country, and though I could have been born anywhere, I got to come here where:

there is enough to feed my children

my girls can be educated

I can speak freely

my family is protected

my husband can earn a living that allows me to stay home to raise our children

I can worship God

.

 

and I am even allowed to have chickens in my backyard if I want to

(ok, maybe that is not uniquely American, but the law just changed here and I am excited

... pictures to come!).