My yoga instructor talked about guilt the other day. Interestingly, she attributed it to the Western world. I don’t know if they don’t have guilt in other countries, but she was right; we put ourselves through a lot of guilt for no reason.

I thought it would be fun to share our Guilt Lists and then (virtually) tear them up. Here’s mine.

• Guilt about not writing enough on all my blogs
• Guilt about not going to yoga as often as I like
• Guilt about gaining a few pounds
• Guilt about being impatient with Max
• Guilt about drinking too much
• Guilt about not being the kind of parent who volunteers at school
• Guilt about not dusting
• Guilt about not scrubbing the tub
• Guilt about not taking Max to play outside often enough

Looking at this list I see that none of it is earth-shattering. I think we as women experience more guilt than men. What do you think? And for what? It’s just another stressor in our lives.

So here and now I’m making a proclamation that we will deliberately work harder to NOT feel so guilty. The dishes can wait. We won’t blow up if we don’t exercise all week (or month). That hamburger will not go straight to our thighs.

Life is meant to be enjoyed. Let’s start doing that.

Yesterday, he couldn’t ride his bike. In fact, he had a meltdown when Papa tried to teach him.

Today he can.

Do you remember the day you learned to ride your bike? I do. I had a Strawberry Shortcake bike, with pink banana seat and red and white streamers. I remember my dad pushing me off, me begging him not to let go and when he did, as all dads do, that feeling of freedom, knowing I was doing it all on my own.

I hope my son felt that today.

I told him he would never forget this day. We marked it with ice cream, as is necessary for any landmark moment.

It’s going by too fast…

In looking on Facebook, I’ve come to realize that the Fourth is a much bigger deal for other people than it is for me. There’s my one friend, who has had a party with her family as long as I’ve known her. Now that she has three beautiful daughters, she dresses them up gaily in red, white and blue.

It’s just another day for us, for many reasons. Growing up, my mom worked at a hospital, which meant that holidays didn’t exist; she worked them. So Thanksgiving’s the same no-big-deal day for me too.

My family never did fireworks. I didn’t light one until I was in college (so I had an unnatural fear of them, as you can imagine).

Now Max is weird about fireworks, so it’s low on the list every year. I wouldn’t dream of lighting them in front of him (though sparklers would be cool). Now we live in Southern California, fire capital of the country, so they’re banned for people to do themselves here.

He also hates fireworks shows. You should have seen him when he was 2 or 3 at Epcot. Ballistic. I haven’t tried it again. Last year we watched them from a parking lot, far from the booms that would send him into hysterics. We’ll do the same tonight. Armed with some froyo and maybe a bottle of wine, we’ll celebrate the country’s birth as we always do – low key.