my boyfriend is patriotic. not a little bit patriotic, but rabidly patriotic. before he moved in i didn’t have a single flag in or around the house. currently, i have about a dozen flags in and around the house. there’s a big one outside. just blowwwwin’ in the breeze.

and to be fair, it’s not all matt. i mean, he doesn’t buy one everytime he leaves the house. some of them were given to him by the boys. apparently, if you tell an eleven and twelve year old that someone likes something they immediately take that to mean that every time they accompany you to the store they should start saying things like, “mama, matt likes flags. we should get him this one.” which is what they say. what they mean is, “mama, matt likes flags. you should buy him this one because i picked it out and it’s extra super special and he’ll love this one beyond all the others and if you don’t buy it for him then you’re basically just saying you don’t care for him and you don’t want him to be happy and that’s not nice, mom. that’s not cool. be cool, mom. be cool.”

and what can you say to that?

so there’s a bunch more flags around here now. is my point. but not just flags. tonight, i made spaghetti and asked him to run to the store for french bread. he says, “you mean freedom bread?” and then i rolled my eyes so hard they nearly fell out of my head and he went to the store. when he came back, i kid you not, he had scratched out the word “french” on the bag and written “freedom” — this is the man with whom i share my life.

seriously.

yeah, true, he was messing with me. he’s not like jack nicholson psycho freaky about it. but he is patriotic.

and we do have a lot of flags now.

i’m sure i was going somewhere else with this entry and for the life of me i can’t remember where. : /