Party in the USA

Last year we celebrated the nation's independence in Moscow on the green grass of the Embassy lawn. We organized our own celebratory breakfast, flag salute, parade, pie baking contest, water balloon launch, and general patriotism. It was my most favorite July 4th ever. It was spent with some of my favorite people and I had the winning pie, so that made it good. It is rumored that in the football game, my husband threw and his friend caught the winning touchdown against the Marines, but that's just heresay, no one can confirm.

This year, we played tourists in our new town, so we went to the parade. Many years ago, my little brother marched with his high school band on these very streets. We watched for an hour (eight bands later) and the kids were pretty bored. After seeing real-live tanks roll down the road at the Victory Day parades, it was a little lackluster. Plus, there was no candy? When did that happen? How long have I been away?

Number 2 with his esteemed Marines.


We went back home for the afternoon where we grilled hamburgers and hot dogs. There was homemade apple pie, but it wasn't the same. No Marines, no water balloons. How can a holiday feel more patriotic in a different country?

That evening, we headed out again to secure a spot near the Iwo Jima memorial. Clearly, it was a good pick because most of the newspapers photos were taken from the same spot. Here's one my husband took. It was beautiful over the monuments. Some of our favorite fireworks were smiley faces, stars, and the ones that looked like they were spinning.

We made it back home, washed our feet, and called it a day. But it felt like any day.

Help me Understand

If this is you, I don't mean you. I'm mostly referring to my shock at American culture.

When I lived out in the country in suburban Michigan, many moons ago, I got showered and dressed for the day because I thought it was a good idea. I could parade around in my sweatpants (lovingly called the home uniform) but I chose to be presentable most of the time, should anyone unexpectedly knock on my door.

This served well when I moved to Russia. There were always tradesmen in and out of the house, neighbors dropping by, new people in the neighborhood. Being dressed worked well. With one exception; if I was waiting on a certain service to be completed (such as toilet plunged, dishwasher fixed AGAIN, etc) and I found that it was being delayed, without fail, if I stayed in my pjs, it was then that the doorbell would ring. Every. Time. Magic.

In Moscow, the question about my attire was, "heels or no heels?" Most Russians are dressed to the nines at all times. Granted they may have worn that outfit three days in a row, but they look nice. Of course, accessories like fancy coats, earrings, scarves, and purses help. I tossed tennis shoes out the first year I was there. And flip-flops. Too casual. I adopted stilettos and calf boots. When I would visit back home, I was almost always overdressed. Habit I guess.

Now I live in America again. The land of the free. Free to shop and get the lowest price. Free to drive like a lunatic. Free to chew gum as loudly as possible when on the bus. Let me get to the point.

Free to wear sweatpants outside? Free to wear athletic clothes at all times?

Every day, I wake up at 5:30am. I make coffee and get myself going. By 6:00, I am working out. I'm talking about the kind of workout where sweat gathers in places that makes body parts squeak. The kind where I secretly turn the air down to 70 just for a few minutes so I don't hyperventilate. Let me tell you. There is nothing that could keep me in those clothes all day long. I immediately shower, apply make-up, and dress. By 7:30, my kids are just beginning to stir. We begin school at 8:00.

I know I live in an athletic town. Seriously, I've felt like I should lie and say I run, just to get into a couple of conversations. But I didn't. I don't run. My chiropractor once told me that I don't have a curve in my neck so my spine is like a broomstick and my head is like a bowling ball atop it. Pounding bowling ball causes stress to the broomstick. Poetic, isn't it? No running for this lady.

I've always wanted to run. I just can't. I like runners. I wish I was one. But I'm not. Anyone who ran track with me in high school will validate these statements. I was on the track team, but I wasn't a runner.

So, this message is really a cry for help. Help me understand. Why the sweatpants? Why the athletic clothes?

Our grandmothers wore pearls, stockings, and blouses. Our mothers donned bell bottoms and t-shirts. If we are the generation who wears athletic clothes and sweatpants, what will our kids wear?

Number 2 wearing "United States of Awesome" and gym shorts. Yes, gymshorts.