Happy 4th of July!

Happy Red, White, and Blue! I'm trying to take time today to appreciate the gift of freedom and the fact that freedom is not free. Democracies only work when we do. Vote in the fall. Ok, I'll get off my soapbox and let you gaze at Georgia in her 4th of July-ish new dress (while napping in her martyr position...)

When she wakes up, we're going to see Daddy at work. It seems to me that working today is un-American, but we are (unfortunately) the land of consumption and there will be customers.

I'll need to cop now that we're going so mommy can partake in the Red-White-and Blue potluck that is going on there! Who is going to turn away a breastfeeding mom with a beautiful babe in arms from a hearty spread? UPDATE: I WENT FOR THE POTLUCK TODAY. THERE WAS NO POTLUCK TODAY. IT IS TOMORROW. NOAH DIDN'T SIGN UP TO BRING FOOD SO HE DIDN'T PAY CLOSE ATTENTION TO THE DATE. THAT KILLED MY PARTY CRASHING SPIRIT AND I'M NOT SURE I'LL HAVE THE GUTS TO SHOW TOMORROW!

Thankfully, Noah gave me some warning on this potluck so he actually did arrive at work with food to share. He is notorious for not yet they always insist he eat. (Everybody loves Noah...this man can get away with anything!)

This pattern went on for I'd say a good six months (and thus six potlucks) before he fessed up to me. I called him a potluck hater. He said, "Nah, I'm a potluck skater." True.

He is who he is and I love him to pieces. Even when he challenges me he usually has me doubled over laughing while he does it. Yesterday I was working on my Master's capstone project and he started rummaging around in our closet. We are actively cleaning and sorting and getting rid of extras, unneededs, and why-do-we-have this junk. So I'm sitting at the computer and he suddenly appears beside me with two different tennis shoes and asks, politely, why I need both pairs. I explained. Then he reappeared with 3...and a while later appeared again with 4...and finally 5. And this face...

I agreed to give up one pair. This is a 20% reduction in the athletic section of my footwear. I'd say that's a decent sacrifice!

By days end we had 4 trashbags of stuff to donate and off we go. He's teasing me about I don't even remember and then starts immitating Georgia's grab of death and pulls at my shoulder. Then he looks at me and says, "Dear...did you know your shirt is on inside out?" I'm laughing and crying at the same time (this is the kind of stuff I do now that I'm a mommy...and why some of my single friends will never have children because of the (reportedly frightening) changes in me).

We make it to the Goodwill and unload. As we pull away from the drive up donation line, he smiles and says proudly, "Here's our crap...slightly above trash!" and drives off. Gotta love him.