The Fourth of July was stellar this year for me, not just because I got to ride INSIDE the firetruck for the parade, but also because it finally happened! 

We captured a picture of Lt. Tom!

The man who for years has most comically avoided my camera, and hence Mama’s Stories!

After years and years of getting photos like this:

Or frustrating backside shots like this (he’s on the right, obviously.) :

And teasers like this:

I got his handsome mug on the camera!  Technically, it was Adam who did it, but whatever!  It worked!  We got gruff, strong, quiet, smart-as-a-whip, gentle giant, big-hearted Tom on camera!  You have to realize this is a huge accomplishment.  He’s big, but he’s fast, and wiley.  I’ve had nothing but outtakes on him, and he laughs at me about it.

So I was feeling pretty smug about it. And this morning, while snickering at my victory, I opened our drop box to pull that golden photo up for publishing…..

BUT. IT. WAS. GONE.

My Captain had cleaned out the drop box!  He deleted Tom’s photograph.

Dammit, Captain!   !@#$##%$$#@@@!  WHAT WERE YOU THINKING??!!!  @#$#%^^^@!!!%$$#@!!!

Friends, I think he’s working with Tom.

All right boys……

GAME ON.

My Captain’s shift pulled duty today, July 4th, this year.  Bummer, right?

Not so fast, there, Bucko.

Do you know what firemen often are asked to do on the Fourth of July?  Can you say Parade?!

I’ve never experienced a parade from the inside out before, and My Captain’s shift graciously allowed me to tag along.  I was determined to behave, and be cool.

Don’t say a word.  Not. One. Word.  As far as you know, I was totally cool, and wasn’t jumping up and down in my seat the whole time.

I was exposed to an interesting perspective of parades today, of how the firefighters feel when they are getting so much attention.

On the one hand, they appreciate the enormous gratitude people send their way.

And they can’t but help to love the exuberance of the children idolizing them.

But on the other hand, they are uncomfortable with all of that attention.  They don’t do what they do to be idolized.  They do it because it needs to be done.

Period.

But they understand the world loves a hero.  Heck, the truth of the matter is that the world doesn’t just love heroes….it needs them.  We need to know heroes are out there.

The guys on the shift understand this, so they go to the parades, with very little mumbling, and they wave to the nice people.

And today, as a bonus, after the parade, My Captain’s crew stopped by a local neighborhood that had asked if their kids could see the fire engine.

When we got there, Master Firefighter Mike (one of My Captain’s favorite drivers) hopped out and yanked open all of the compartments for the town’s folk to check out,

and then the hordes came.

My Captain was swarmed almost immediately.

And poor Adam!  He manned the receiving end of the walk-through for the kids.  It got to be comical.

My Captain would shake hands,

and Adam would receive a kid to put back down on the ground.

And then My Captain would shake some more hands (or high five them!),

And Adam would receive another kid to put down on the ground.

And My Captain would….

And Adam would….

My Captain….  (actually here he isn’t shaking hands.  Here he is reassuring the little one that he wouldn’t put the loud, scary sirens on).

Meanwhile, Adam unloads another….you get the drift!

But the kids weren’t the only ones to swarm….the adults were full of questions too!

So My Captain listened and answered.

again….

and again….

And after they did all of that,  the town’s folk gave them flags!

Here ya’ go, Adam.  Please play responsibly with these.

And Doughnuts!!!

Which was kind of unfortunate.  There were already several boxes of doughnuts at the station…

In addition to homemade goodies as well.

And all of that sugar made them comatose in short order.

No, really.

Who knew that being idolized could take so much out of a person?  Who knew that the pressure of all that gratitude being thrown at them would bring them to their knees (or, er, butts, as the case may be…)

(And the REALLY sad thing here is that they were only able to rest for like 10 minutes before the next 911 call came!)

Well, regardless of the embarrassment for all the attention, these guys felt blessed.  How could they not, with so much affection thrown at them from every generation?

And me?  I was just happy as a little girl to ride in the back seat.  I mean, a Cool girl.  Not a giddy one jumping up and down on the seat with excitement.  No, Sirree.  Not me.  I would NEVER do that!

Happy Independence Day, Friends!

Do you remember last summer in  ~ Picnic In A Hurricane ~ when My Captain built a picnic table strong enough to withstand a Class V hurricane?

This year, I embellished it.

Behold the blue tape.  The blue tape was everything here.   Once that was down, the supercalifragilistic-aint-nothing-gonna-peel-this-paint Primer was applied.  Two coats.

Then contact paper.

I painted white over the primer, and then My Captain’s showed off his anal-retentive skills with an Exacto knife on the contact paper.

And we had ourselves a template.

Can you see the squares?

Then I applied the blue paint for the blue squares.  (Because blue paint for red squares would be weird.)

It took several coats.

Long story short, when everything dried and we peeled all the layers of contact paper and tape off….VOILA!

Please don’t start about the less-than-perfect way I painted down in the cracks of the table.  I’m not a pro, man!  I’m just a housewife/former medic/ former martial artist/ former whitewater kayaker/ former landscaper/ former bartender.   Painting Cracks was never in my job description.  Quit pressuring me!

Once I’d finished with the checkerboard, I went ahead and painted a khaki colored edge around it, because Martha Stewart would have wanted it that way.   And I’m all about pleasing dear Martha.

Our first players were none other than Em and Critter.  I had not made any playing pieces, so they made do with saltwater taffy and lemon drops.  Frankly, those were way better than anything I would have come up with.

Except they couldn’t ‘King’ each other because they kept eating the pieces.

I didn’t hear any complaints, though.

I’m a world-class talker.  A hell of a story teller.  A master at public speaking.  I can work a room like nobody’s business.

It’s been said I’m full of crap.  I take that as a compliment.

We all have our strengths.  Mine is the Gift of Gab.   No one knows if I’m that way because I was one of four kids and had to fight to get attention, or if I was dropped on the floor as a child.  But whatever the reason, I excel at loquaciousness.

I talk a lot, too.

And I’m chatty and garrulous.

And I own a thesaurus.

There are few people in my inner circles who can tell when I’m dead serious, straight up sincere, or spinning a joke.  And the master of those few people is My Captain.  He can call “Bull-shit” from a mile away.  Usually, he does it lovingly.  But sometimes…sometimes he does it without words.

I’ll be entertaining myself hugely by weaving an outlandish yarn with someone, and he’ll shoot me one of these looks:

and I’ll know I’m busted.

Nothing gets by him.  Oh, believe me, I’ve tried.

And if you don’t think that I quiver in fear when I receive one of these nail-me-to-the-wall looks,  you’re sadly mistaken.  If I was a puppy, I’d probably pee on the floor a little bit.  Heck I’m not sure I haven’t done that anyways, when he’s given me that look.  My Captain is not one to be trifled with.  A smart woman would stop trying.

Which tells you a lot about my intelligence quotient…..

I spend a lot of my time alone around the house.

My Captain is one of the hardest working men in the fire department, if his overtime sheet is any indication.  And between school and spending time with their dad, Varmint and Critter are often gone as well.

So I get used to being alone, and doing things people do when no one is looking…like walking around in my underwear, singing in the shower, belching and farting anytime, and anywhere, and using the bathroom without closing the door.  I most EMPHATICALLY do NOT drink milk right out of the container in the fridge…but only because I don’t like drinking milk.  Otherwise, I probably would.

I’m into shortcuts, and I’m into keeping things real.  Obviously I’m okay with a certain low level of polish and couth.  And I’ve never had to worry about whether or not My Captain minds…because he often isn’t here to see me be so, well, casual.  I do TRY to be a little more classy when my family is around.  Whether or not I succeed is irrelevant…intent counts, right?

But lately, for some reason, my poor private habits have been spilling over into my social ones.  And this isn’t good.  For example, in the past two weeks, I’ve sat on the toilet without closing the door when My Captain IS home, and as luck would have it, he’ll pass by and see me.  All I can do is smile sheepishly and hope my cuteness factor outweighs my disgusting factor.

I’m not sure why sitting on a toilet is so embarrassing.  Everyone does it, everyone needs to do it, and everyone knows that everyone else needs to.  But every stinkin’  time he catches me on the toilet, I feel like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.  (Really, Mama?  THAT was the most appropriate analogy you could make?  Weirdo.)

I keep wondering what he thinks when he catches me in such a position.  He never says anything.  He just shakes his head and grins at me.  I don’t worry that he is judging me, though, because, let’s be honest here, he’s a firefighter.  And he lives half of his life around other firefighters.

These are people who have races to see who can poop corn first after chili night.

So catching his beloved wife on the toilet from time to time is probably more endearing, than concerning.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

(But we never have chili night at home, just to be on the safe side.)