America is 247 years old, Bobbie is 4 months, Joe is nearly 3, we’re all unemployed and embracing the time and wherewithal that we have to celebrate, make and eat cake (vanilla with blueberry filling and lemon ermine frosting OBVIOUSLY), have friends over, wear the colors, march through the neighborhood, eat four kinds of chips, because it’s not a perfect country but we are VERY lucky to be here, and to be alive, to have sun and room temperature butter and time. The puppet show at the end of the parade is sponsored by a city councilman and it’s the only time I thought about our government all day, its quiet support of us. I ask Joe what country we live in, he says North America. I tell him we’re going to eat chips and hot dogs and cake, and he says Why? I put Bob in flag clothes, and she pees on them. The grown-ups drink and don’t talk politics. Instead we’re just here with our kids making sure they don’t get sun burnt or accidentally impale each other. It’s all very American, which sometimes just means its colors, and ease, and chips.