I'm sure we all know that I spent the fourth surrounded by lazy communists. Well, not really. At least I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt. About the "communism" anyway.

We don't have a parade here, and the fireworks are at 11:00pm! I've taken it about as long as I can. We've been here 4 years! FOUR YEARS in the wilderness with no Fouth of July Parade. Lots of that time, I've been distracted with moving. Followed by pregnant and the whole not-dieing thing. Followed by new-mommy-sleep-dep. But now? Now the wheels are slowly starting to spin. Sure, they're grinding a little bit. Sure, I'm not up to full speed yet. But, the inevitable is upon us ...

Purposefully and softly, out of the blue, I asked my husband "Hmmm. Wonder exactly how much is involved in doing a parade?"

One of the things I love about him is the ability to correctly assess any given situation. Instead of immediately blathering on about how it would be a lot of work and a lot of time and a lot of aggravation, he slowly and cautiously looked at me out of the corner of his eyes. No sudden movements for him! I suspect this is the same reaction he might have if he noticed a coiled snake on the couch next to him. Then ... the quickly reflexive self-preserving-instinct outside-the-question stroke-of-brilliance that he's known for:

"I bet it would be more fun to find an established parade within two hours of here. We could go somewhere."

Ahhhhhh. We have a plan for next year. Totally NOT what I was thinking, but definitely what I was wanting. And, thus, he saves me from myself. Again.