The weeks leading up to the fourth filled my brain with a few ideas on how to spend it, on the beach in Ventura, in a tent at Lake Isabella, at the house with the grill going and friends filling up the yard, and although none of those thoughts came to fruitation, none of it would have been as wonderful as what did. We grabbed a couple folding chairs, loaded the dogs up and drove 10 minutes away to the fair grounds. We staked out a spot on a small hill that had a perfect view, one dog on my feet, the other in Ross’ lap, and “ooh” and “ahh” ‘d over the humble display our small town put on. Now anyone who knows us, knows we aren’t the biggest fans of the town we live in, but I’ve got to hand it to them this time, they put on a very nice show and we both very much enjoyed it.
I love my life. As cheesy and cliche as it may sound, I absolutely adore it. My husband and our fur babies, they are my most prized possesions, and yes I do feel like my husband belongs to me, just as completely as I belong to him, but I hear a lot that we are lucky, that things are perfect, and that is so very far from true. Luck has nothing to do with the happiness and success we’ve found with our marriage, it’s all about the work we put into it and what we take away from events. When we think about this fourth of July years from now, I hope we laugh at the fact that Rocco had to be in Ross’ lap the whole time or he would lose it; or smile because it was a lovely, fun night to share with each other, and that we would not dwell on the argument we had or the prickers in our feet or the dirt in my trunk. After all, life’s all about perspective.