Many people are surprised when I tell them we don’t like to travel for the Fourth of July. The reason is two-fold:

1) It’s the two-week window for The Great Pumpkin’s pollination. Duh.

2) We live on a hill overlooking where the fireworks are shot. Our neighbors collectively petition to have our street closed off and the partying goes late into the night.

We started out our festivities by making coconut ice cream after church, a Fourth of July tradition.

Or rather, it would be if only we could remember to actually do it every year.

The plan for this Fourth of July was to setup canopies in a park area across the street and do a huge potluck starting at 6 p.m.

At exactly 5:57 p.m., it started raining.

Big time.

We scrambled together and our neighbor Bernie generously offered up her house.

Because there is nothing like cramming 50 people inside.

In the end, it didn’t matter. The kids played with their besties .

And the city still set off the fireworks. Early that morning, Jamie had staked out our usual spot on the hill. Due to the inclement weather, when we arrived we were among only a few hearty families while everyone else watched from their cars.

Woosies.

Or at least so I thought until the grand finale when the torrential downpour began. At the last minute, I had returned to grab our new Sport-Brella and I’m so glad I did. Jamie and I snuggled up to nine giggling kids as we marveled at the kalaidescope in the sky

Most of our past Independence Days all blur together but this one will go down in infamy as one of my favorites. The reason? After several weeks of 90+ degree weather, this was the one evening it rained and yet everyone still banded together and made the best of the less-than-ideal circumstances.

The same could be same about my Muphy’s Law life.

I’ll take it.

Kind of a pain but I’ve temporarily closed comments as I combat problems with Asian spammers!

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