For the last three years, Fourth of July weekend has meant one thing in our house... Red Bud (which you must yell in your most red-necky voice.)
Red Bud... (sigh) is a national MotoCross race. I'm sure I don't have that quite right, but it's something with motorbikes that takes up the whole weekend and crams thousands of people into a small plot of land somewhere near Buchanan, MI.
It's not that The Butcher is a big MotoCross fan. And it's certainly not that my three daughters are, or, God forbid, me. It it this... one of The Butcher's best friends owns a porta-toilet business and usually is the one to clean out the crappers of the huge, giant RVs that are camped there. And... The Butcher... helps.
Yes, you read that right... my husband helps clean out the crappers. But money is money, and friendship is friendship.
So our Fourth weekends were usually taken up with camping in a private lot at Red Bud (because, really, who wants to be by the crapper trucks?), listening to the engines rev until the wee hours of the morning, only to be awakened bright and early to some disembodied man yelling "Good Morning, REEEEEEEEEEED BUUUUUUUUUUD" at a truly ungodly hour.
Admittedly, the kids loved it. No bedtime, junk food, four wheeler rides with dad, red neck watching. Me, not so much - don't get me wrong - I do enjoy some good red neck watching.
OH - did I mention the helicopter rides that fly out over our campsite every 20 minutes? Yeah... fun.
With the Big Move, I thought for sure this Fourth would be better... but, alas, this is not to be true. The Butcher's been working on a roof all weekend (because, ya know, money is money), and I've been trapped in a rental house with three bored girls trying not to drink the rest of the box wine by myself...
At least Poirot was on last night... oh and there are no helicopter flyovers.