The red, the white, the blue.
May 31, 2010
Last Thursday, Aura and I were upstairs in the home office, packing and preparing for our long-weekend trip to NYC. (Also known as Aura’s First Trip to Manhattan, also known as A NYC Visit Vastly Different from NYC Visits Mommy and Daddy Made Before Becoming a Mommy and a Daddy, also known as Oh How I Miss Restaurants Where You Need Reservations and/or Oh How I Hate Times Square. Anyway, more gory details later.)
As we were waiting for the printer to spew out our hotel confirmation, Aura looked up at my desk and spotted the miniature American flag she had received at last year’s local Fourth of July parade. She nabbed it, then began waving it, marching, and singing a song she must have learned in preschool:
Oh, we love our flag, our country
The red, the white, the blue.
Oh, we love our flag, our country
The red, the white, the blue.
Oh, we love our flag, our country
The red, the white, the blue.
Wave it high and free!
I applauded when she finished. “What a great song to sing as we start the Memorial Day holiday weekend!” I said.
“What do you mean, Mommy?” Aura asked, the little flag fluttering in the breeze from the air conditioning. “What is Memorial Day?”
And so I tried to explain, without explaining too much. How lucky we are to live in a country where we are free to do so many things. How sometimes the very bravest people who live here have to fight other people in other places who don’t want us to be so free, or don’t want other people in other places to be free. How sometimes those brave people fight so hard that they can’t come home again. I stuttered and backtracked and edited and probably muddied the explanation completely.
“But why do some people not want us to be free?” Aura asked, watching me fold clothes into rectangles and tuck them neatly into our suitcase.
I paused, stroking errant wisps of hair back from her forehead. “I don’t know, sweetie,” I answered, although “I don’t know” didn’t seem like much of an answer at all. “But on Memorial Day we stop to really remember all the people who help keep our lives as wonderful as they are.”
Then we packed some more and talked about hotels and lit-up billboards, about pastrami sandwiches and bagels, about Central Park and carousels. And I kept thinking, Wave it high and free, baby. High and free.
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(Thank you to all those in the military who have served, are serving, and will serve. Always, thank you.)
$5.99 Worth of Anticipation
December 31, 2009
Two nights ago in Target, I was standing in line when I noticed a display of Deluxe Crackers–you know, those foil-covered things you pull to produce a cracking noise and confetti and other stuff you have to shortly thereafter sweep. Sucked in by the price sticker announcing said crackers were a Great Value at only $5.99, I grabbed a box. I then listened carefully for the telltale chortles of the people closeted away in the Target security room, where they surely high-five each other every time they catch a moron like me making what can only be described as an impulse buy. I imagine they weren’t guffawing quite as loudly as they must have when I picked up that value pack of keychain flashlights a couple of months ago, but still, I’d wager someone snorted up a sip of his Slurpee.
It's kind of the manufacturers to explain that I am the one who needs to pony up the $5.99. I tried angling it at the cashier, thinking she could be the YOU, but no luck.
When Aura woke up yesterday morning and heard of my purchase, she became intrigued. Since then, there has been much examination of the box, some frantic shaking of it, and several related queries. For one, how do these crackers crack? When they crack, is it loud, kind of loud, or so loud she might cry? What kind of toy is inside? A good toy or only a kind-of-good toy? Can she crack only one cracker, or can she maybe have two?
“You’ll just have to wait and see!” I crowed each time, having no idea myself what to expect from these Deluxe Crackers. She’s napping now, probably dreaming of their contents: luxuriant thumb-sized stuffed animals, silky confetti, a few tiny Deluxe Cracker-sized lollipops trimmed with diamonds. Me, I’m getting a little nervous. Having now actually read the back of the box, I fear that this New Year’s Eve will bring nothing but crushing disappointment. Here, let me show you what I mean:
Nugget of advice: Never trust something called a "novelty."
I’m not sure how I feel about getting a motto in my cracker. Sure, a nice little “Live each day to its fullest!” is harmless enough. But what if I crack my Deluxe Cracker and find myself faced with “It’s never pleasant to have the widest thighs in the room!” or “Self-induced stress leads to the highest blood pressure known to man!” The crackers were made in China. If workers over there use lead paint in children’s toys, you KNOW they won’t resist the chance to insult adults imbecilic enough to buy Deluxe Crackers.
See artful red circling.
Wait. It is me? A “surprise” bang? Is this description actually a stealthy disclaimer for the criminally stupid? Did someone, somewhere buy a box of Deluxe Crackers back in 2008, pull one open, then promptly fall over dead from the shock of the eponymous crack? Perhaps I am just missing the point here. Maybe this is no ordinary crack. Maybe this is a earth-shaking, ear-splitting BANG so loud that the downstairs bathroom’s light fixture, the one I loathe with every loathing molecule of my being, will shatter and need to be immediately replaced.
Apparently it is imperative that you take your crackers outside to the backyard, where you can then festively pull them open in front of your trusty boxwood shrub.
Huh. Is it possible that I have been giving the Deluxe Crackers too little credit? After all, when we open each one tonight, we won’t just be getting a prize. Oh no. We will be getting a Prize. And that’s just different.
Aura’s awake! Off to crack. Will report back, if not struck deaf.
Peace to All
December 25, 2009
Merry Christmas and happiest of holidays from our very blessed, very happy, kind-of-interfaith family to yours.
