Dear Darling,

It was 4th of July this last weekend. You know–my 3rd favorite holiday? Well. You were supposed to be here this year. I’d kind of planned on it.

You were supposed to go to the parade with me and catch the Frisbees and Nerf balls that I can never seem to grab. You were supposed to squeeze me softly when the veterans rode past on their float and the f-16s flew overhead because those are the two things that always make me a little teary. You were supposed to help me run interference with the family next to us whose kids kept creeping into our space and stealing our kids’ candy. You were supposed to help the other men with the bar-b-q and make everyone laugh at the picnic and then take a nap with me in the hammock. You were supposed to light a million sparklers with me and run around like we were 5 again. You were supposed to lay with me on the blanket we set out 3 days early to save our spot and hold my hand while we watched fireworks explode over us–you know how much I love fireworks. You were supposed to laugh and pretend to be embarrassed when I started singing along to “I’m Proud to Be and American” and “We’re Comin’ to America.” Not that you really were embarrassed. You actually thought it was cute. And it was. I usually am, you know.

Anyway. That’s what we were supposed to do. Cuz that’s how we do the 4th of July. But you weren’t here.

Oh and just so you know … you’re going to be in big trouble next year Mister if you miss it again.

xo,

me