The Fourth

Yesterday was the Fourth of July. We drove up to a store in northern Atlanta to return some merchandise, hit up that fabulous Swedish store, Ikea, and watched the rain fall from gray, gray clouds all day long.

Trying on a headband.

James testing the merchandise.

Camera phone + Wiggly One Year Old = the best pic I'll probably get of him.

I guess I was feeling a little guilty for having a somewhat un-American day (although the meatballs, mashed potatoes, cranberry-like sauce, and apple cake we had for lunch at said Swedish store did feel strangely like Thanksgiving), because we made a special effort to talk to Cambrie about what this holiday meant.

I told her the basics. Some people traveled a long way from England to come live here, on this land. The really loved the land, but the kind of England at the time was being very mean. He was doing mean things to them. They were not free. They were not safe. So the people knew they needed to be brave and fight for their homes and families. They told the king he could not be mean to them anymore. They fought long and hard for what they knew was right--for freedom.

Patrick and I told her the very abbreviated story of Francis Scott Key, then sang the national anthem. Cambrie loves to point out the American flags all over town ("Mommy! There's Our Flag again!!"), so we thought she'd enjoy the story of him seeing it after that long battle. We also watched some Schoolhouse Rock, which she really liked.

I'm often a party-pooper when it comes to holidays; I'm a far cry from those Pinterest women who have traditions and crafts and cupcakes to go with every holiday of the year. I think the things they do are fun, and I'd like to do more, I guess, but I think until I'm a little more organized, I'll stick with the big holidays, like Christmas, to go all fancy with. I'm okay with being low-key.

But there are a lot of holidays that mean something. (Okay, I guess Halloween has a kinda cool history, but hardly one I'd consider necessary for my three-year-old to comprehend.) The Fourth of July is one of those that is important, parades, beach barbecues, and red-white-and-blue desserts aside.

So I hope that even when we spend the day shopping for Swedish odds and ends, and even when our burgers are being grilled in the rain, and even when the things we do don't seem like the typical cultural celebration of the Fourth of July, I hope that Cambrie remembers a few things.

I hope she remembers that our flag is important, something to love. I hope she remembers that July, the Fourth, is our country's birthday, and that it's worth celebrating. I tend to think she'll remember the part about the mean king, but I hope she'll also remember the words "land of the free, and the home of the brave," and that she'll feel that she's a part of those words. That is her heritage. And mine.

We did get ice cream cones, and we did light sparklers. Then Cambrie went to bed. Later that night, before we laid down for the night, Patrick invited me to read the Declaration of Independence with him.

Cambrie and her hard-earned ice cream cone (she did really well at Ikea).

And you know what? If we had done nothing else, that would have made it feel like the Fourth of July to me.