Happy Independence Day, everyone. Waking up today (at 8:30! How did that happen? More importantly, how did our children let that happen?), I was thinking about my summer break between my first and second year of college, when I was working in the misses department of our local JCPenney. What a mind-numbingly awful job. I still distinctly remember closing up the store after hours at night and having to walk past all those creepy mannequins lining the dark aisle. Brrr. I still get the heeby-jeebies thinking about it.
But back to what I was saying. I remember that summer particularly because I woke up early on July 4. I woke up cursing the sun, the bright sky, and all the evils of the time card, let me tell you. I had to put on some tanned-colored pantyhose, my professional-yet-comfortable heels and work that golly awful job. It was my first real taste of the bitterness of adult responsibility. Granted, that job was paying for my books for fall semester, but that July 4th all I was concerned about was declaring my independence from price tags and returns without receipts.
That was a long time ago, though, and today was not that day. Today I got to sleep in (8:30, people! Do you even know how late that is for the residents of this house?!). I got to stuff strawberry shortcake down my gob (homemade, and way too much of it. Which is kind of both glorious and gross at the same time) and pour some lovely beer (Stone Levitation Ale, to be exact), which makes me giddy only because I. Was. Having. a Beer. Before. Eight. PM (I’m still in post-breastfeeding rebound mode, if you’re wondering). I got to eat outside and swim in our money pit of a pool that turns into heaven for 2 1/2 months of the year and play with my girls in the water and watch my husband relax and help my 80-something-old neightbor celebrate his birthday and…
…it was a good day.