Independence

Happy Fourth of July, aka Independence Day! If you're an American, that is. I don't presume that all of the readers who have managed to stick around after the steep drop-off in the quality and quantity of my posts since the twins are, in fact, American. Actually, I know you aren't, thanks to Google Analytics.

One of the things I loved most about living in Pennsylvania was being in the proximity of many, many historical sites. Here in Iowa, we're making modern history by being the fist state to allow gay marriage, but we're not steeped in the history of the beginnings of our country.

It makes me wish that I could get to places in the world where the history of humanity started. If those paces weren't torn asunder by war, financial ruin, and natural disaster.

So, in honor of Independence Day, here are my Independence Day Wishes. Yes, I'm aware that there is no such tradition as making a wish and blowing out a sparkler, but here are my wishes nonetheless:

1. That the weeds in my flower beds and garden would declare independence, flee, and form their own colony somewhere. Just not in my yard.

2. That the clutter in my house would declare itself free from my tyranny, flee, and form its own colony somewhere. They could call it "West Cluttterland" or something.

3. That our laundry would protest stain removal without representation and flee to the safety of the colonies also known as closets.

It should be written into the constitution of the United States of America that if you have four children aged 6 and under, you should be exempt from functioning as a proper adult and should never be ridiculed for any incoherent babblings you choose to post online, like in your blog. Nor should anyone laugh when you accidentally inhale a smidge of the rather large swig of coffee you just took, especially when the aspiration causes you to choke and spray said mouthful of coffee all over your bathroom mirror, counter top and sink. Bonus points for cleaning it up while gasping for breath...

Vive la independence!

Sound and Fury

I am seething.

Absolutely enraged.

Yet another one of my dear friends has been invaded by that ruthless monster cancer. Yet another generous soul. Yet another mother who refuses to give up and leave her children. Yet another wife whose husband will be forced to carry a family through treatment. Yet another daughter whose parents will stand by, helpless to help their baby. Yet another family devastated by the possibility, the dread and fury of senseless illness.

Ironically, yesterday was my birthday and as I was driving home from work I was listening to a story on NPR about the optimistic bias most people have when faced with a diagnosis of a vile disease. My gracious and grateful friend is one of these optimists -- the announcement she made regarding her ovarian cancer is graceful and full of light and full of fight.

Me?

I'm just royally pissed. I think that's OK, though -- if she is positive and optimistic, I'll get my hands dirty and fight the fight in any way she needs. She's got the game plan and I'll take whatever orders she gives. Let me be the angry one, let me be the one to take the punches. Let me take this so that she can focus on getting well.

I do not make friends easily. I am friendly, but I'm really just a blustery introvert who can fake it when she needs to, but in her I feel that I've found a kindred spirit. Of course, she is so open and loving that I am probably one of dozens who feels this way about her, but this is MY friend we're talking about here. I lay claim to that friendship. Once again I find myself screaming at the cosmos for trying to steal MY FRIEND.

Dammit, you're not getting this one, either.