4th of July - summer's bittersweet midpoint

It's sad to say it, but summer is pretty much halfway over. Pretty soon, there will be back-to-school sales, crispness in the air and orange leaves. Before you know it, it's Christmas.

Geeez.

But as much as I bemoan the 4th of July as the peak of summer season (all downhill from here, people), I can't really hate on it too much, because there ain't too much cuter than little kids in Americana-themed clothing. And I do love me some cookout food!

This particular 4th was perfection: hot but not too humid; a parade and fireworks in Annapolis; three cookouts and one crab-feast; two sets of red-white-and-blue outfits; baby pools, water tables, cousins, cupcakes - and lots and lots of sparklers.

Waiting for the 4th of July parade in historic downtown Annapolis. My kids now are obsessed with parades, because they got handfuls of candy thrown at them during this one.

Cheeeeeeeese.

Coincidentally, Tahira and I both brought our families to Annapolis this Fourth! It was really fun to hang out with family unexpectedly.

That's Russy on Reggie's shoulders. Guess whose kids didn't cry about the fireworks this year? That's right. My big kids!

At a cookout at my friend David's house, he handed out sparklers and the kids loved them! Clair called hers a "wand."

Our friends Kelly and Mark had a crab feast and pulled out the baby pool. Lots of splashing with Naomi and baby Jason and then, of course: "I'm cooooooold!!" When cold, must eat popsicles. You didn't know?

We finally got to taste the tomatoes the kids grew in their own little pots at Jason and Kelly's house. "They taste GOOD!" the kids exclaimed. Pay Dean's tart-face no attention. He loved them. Thanks, Farmer Jason!

At a cookout at my Mom and Dad's house, I got to chat with this guy, Tyren, who I used to play with when I was like 9 years old. I haven't seen him in a thousand years! He came from Texas with his parents (my Dad's good friends), his wife and three gorgeous daughters, who are 14, 11 and 9. I felt so old! LOL.

After four nights out of the house until at least 11 p.m., so much running around in the sun, lots of walking, and fireworks, sweet treats, splashing, friends, cousins and hot dogs, my kids did what they almost NEVER do: They conked OUT in the car. It was blissful. (P.S. Dean is wearing my sunglasses. Isn't he the most adorable?)

Lester and I did a lot of talking this holiday about what it means to be both an American and a black person in America. It's an interesting dual perspective to carry around, living in a country that is so awesomely wonderful in so many ways, and also still so intolerant of -- and sometimes downright hateful to -- people who look like us.

We know people who find it hard to embrace the Fourth because of that dichotomy. Some were posting photos on Facebook of slaves picking cotton, with text that said, "This is what my ancestors were doing in 1776." And it's true. American freedom means different things depending on who you are in this country. That was true in 1776, and though things are exponentially better now, it is still true today.

But I am still really proud to be an American. And I am still certain that there are few places on this planet where so many people of all different stars and stripes could have so much opportunity. I look at my beautiful children -- the descendants of people who toiled and bled and died so that they could wave sparklers and eat hot dogs like everyone else -- and I am truly optimistic that our country will one day get to where it needs to be. If any country can do it, we can. 

 "And crown thy good with brotherhood...from sea to shining sea."

Why 2-year-olds should not be allowed to predict elections

Last night, while intensely studying his Lightning McQueen slipper (that boy is an observer, I tell you), Cary points to the tiny American flag you see here and says:

"Mommy, look! Barack Obama!"

I decided to take that as a sign. My child sees the teensiest symbol of this great country and immediately and unequivocally equates it with Barack Obama, the man who is fighting tooth and nail to hang on to the presidency. The man I would like to see win again.

From the mouths of babes, I thought. Dear Lord, let it be so.

I even posted my prediction on Facebook. (Dunh dunh dunhhhhh.)

Fast forward to this morning, election day.

Getting in the car, Cary spots my "I voted" sticker and claims it as his own.

I tell him he can't have it, because it belongs to Mommy. Mommy gets to have it because Mommy voted.

"I voted too," he says, nodding vigorously.

"Really?! That's great," I tell him. "Mommy voted for BARACK OBAMA!" (I say it with gusto, so he and Dean know that this is a good thing.)

And then Cary says, "I voted. I-I-I-I voted for MITT ROMNEY!" (He says it with gusto.)

And smiles at me. And takes my sticker.

Sigh.

Get out and vote, people!! A lot of folks died so we'd have this right. So get out and do it today!