Written July 4, 2025
Hello Dear Readers,
This morning started with good news—my right foot, which had been acting like a grumpy toddler for days, finally decided to behave. I laced up my shoes with hope and hit my target pace like a runner reborn. Cue the internal fireworks.
And speaking of fireworks—today was a big deal for us. It was my wife’s very first Independence Day as an American citizen! Cue more fireworks (the metaphorical kind this time, not the ones your uncle sets off too close to the grill). As a celebratory gift, my mother gave us a proper American flag. We even have a flagpole out front, which had been standing rather naked until now. My wife believes the flag should only be flown on meaningful days, and this one checked all the patriotic boxes.
But wait, there’s more. Today wasn’t just about Uncle Sam’s birthday—it was a triple birthday bash at my mother’s place: my wife, my mom, and my sister all share birthdays around this time. Add some cake, a backyard full of kids, and the perfect amount of chaos, and you’ve got the recipe for a summer holiday classic.
Now, the ice cream I heroically fetched earlier this week? That was for this party. My wife, who moonlights as a corporate accountant (and full-time scheduling wizard), has been under serious pressure. July quarter-close is no joke, especially when your head office is in Japan and couldn’t care less that you’re off watching sparklers with a hot dog in hand. Reports were due, spreadsheets were screaming, and stress levels were…let’s say “robust.”
But despite all that, she was genuinely excited. She even carved out the entire afternoon and evening on her jam-packed Google Calendar (yes, color-coded and all). She’s usually booked solid, so this was a certified miracle. We couldn’t stay too late though—bedtime in our house is sacred and strictly pre-10pm. My mother lives 45-50 minutes away. You do the math. Spoiler: it doesn’t leave much room for post-firecracker mingling.
My mom called Friday in a mild ice crisis—turns out, even on July 4th, gas stations have your back. We swooped in, grabbed the goods, and avoided a party meltdown. Crisis averted.
The best part of the day? Seeing my nieces and nephews. They’re all taller, louder, and possibly faster than last time. Kids grow up too fast—it’s like someone hit the fast-forward button when we weren’t looking.
It’s been a wild, jam-packed week full of heat, errands, spreadsheets, and celebration. But in the end? Totally worth it. Happy birthday, America—and happy everything else, too.