It was just...so...good.
We were all together, with no place excepting church to go. There were no pressing obligations, no social occasions, no doctor's appointments. Shoot, we even had milk and orange juice (at least for the first half of the weekend).
After going back and forth about What to Do (the question that typically ruins every holiday), with considerations given to the heat multiplied by the number of children (hot and irritated x 9), we made the unanimous decision to Stay Home.
And I'm so glad.
While Ethan ran to Lowe's for a new garden hose, the children tossed water balloons outside until the fighting was not all in fun. Then I made them come in and watch videos about Memorial Day and make oobleck. (What? You don't see the connection?)
We tried to name all the people we knew who had fought in wars. There were some we know very well (like Pastor Steve and Liam G.) and some we never got to meet (Ethan's dad). The children grew somber when I asked them to imagine Papa being gone for over a year like Rick H. was. I grew somber, too.
But then Papa came home. And we partied.
There was barbecued chicken, and water, and s'mores. And Ada napped and napped, and I sat outdoors and sipped my rhubarbarita and soaked it all in.
|Roll call: how many rolls can you count? I am ridiculously enamored with this baby pudge.|
At the close of the day, Benjamin mused, "I think I like Memorial Day better than Christmas."
I think I might, too.