I was reminded yesterday that I'm married to a man. It was just before 9am and I was relaxing on the couch, not even a full cup of coffee in my system, and something clicked in his head. It's the 4th of July! Tradition beckons. Barbeques and fireworks? No. We live in an apartment and either could set off the smoke detectors. Plus, I'm not a fan of things that fly around the room. No, we participated in viewing pure stupidity. I'm talking about the parade of heartburn hooligans that came to take their place at the main table of the Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest—kind of a cross between Mexican wrestling and your evil step mother's pie eating contest. Khary found a spot on the floor and the girls each found a comfortable nook to relax—Jocelyn under one arm, Aja right next to his head—and we watched, transfixed. For a moment. And then we were disgusted.
This did not keep us from celebrating America, which we did with friends, and barbeque, and bubbles. Jocelyn liked the bubbles best of all.
Today we packed the girls up, sans naps, and headed for Golden Gate Park. We went for a little walk through the Japanese Tea Gardens where we threw wishful pennies into the pond for luck and good fortune.
We then went to relax on the grass in the Botanical Gardens. And by relax, I mean we took turns chasing after Jocelyn, who wanted to be anywhere other than on our blanket, or with her Mommy and Daddy.
Mommy and Daddy. Those are the people that wouldn't let her out of the stroller in the Tea Gardens, they wouldn't feed her the kind of crackers she wanted, they stopped her from playing in the dirt, they had the nerve to put her back in the stroller, and they are just plain mean.
And we won't let you wear makeup or date either. Get used to it little girl.