This is my 4th of July post from last year. And the year before. And it will be my 4th of July post forever because every 4th of July is exactly the same. Every 4th of July I fear for my life.
The holiday week kicked off nicely enough with a little father-son bonding time. My husband had decided to take Crazy on an overnight camping trip, which was a special treat. But as I stood in the driveway waving goodbye to them, I started to worry. I hoped my husband wasn’t using “camping” as a euphemism like when parents claim they’re taking your beloved pet to the “farm.”
Thankfully “camping” wasn’t code for “I’m taking him far, far away and tying him to a fencepost, and if anyone happens by who’s in the market for a young, friendly, good-natured male, they can have him.”