Sunday was the big Fourth of July in White Bear. There was rain in the morning, but luckily, the clouds seemed to part and the sun began to shine in time for the children's parade. Hooray! It's one of the simplest traditions that is one of my favorite things about living in our neighborhood. I'd say it's in the top five. Every year, we get the simple invite - which was probably hand drawn/written 15 years ago and just keeps getting copied and passed on each year. We converge into a motley little mass at the head of Lake Avenue. Then, with a few people marching as our "band" and kids on bikes, scooters and in strollers escorted by parents and pet dogs, we all march our way down the Avenue the six blocks to the park. There are about twenty spectators along the route and one police escort that stops the mass from being mowed down by a texting teenager. Once we get to the park, the bikes, scooters and strollers are quickly abandoned in a heap as everyone runs to join in the games. Peanut race, three legged race and wheelbarrow races followed by lemonade and watermelon. Simple and perfect. I decorated our double stroller to look like a float and added signs for the "royalty". We had Ella: Princess of Delayed Bedtimes, Lillian: Princess of Early Morning Feedings and Loran and Christy: King and Queen of the Sleep Deprived.
Later in the evening, we had guests over for our annual Fourth of July BBQ. This year, it was minus the BBQ as we changed it up with walking tacos. It was reminiscent of 10th grade volleyball games. And awesome. For such a simple party, that we do yearly, it always leads me to go into panic mode. I turn into a giant, raging witch in a quest to clean the house, yard, kids and prepare food. Once everyone comes, I'm able to somewhat relax and enjoy, but it shouldn't be this hard. And I've seriously dropped my Martha Stewart tendencies that I'd cultivated in Connecticut. Then I was a raving lunatic. Once collapsing into a heap on the kitchen floor in tears, spatula in hand when I couldn't get a drawer open. True story. Certifiably nuts. There, I've let you into my head...scary place. But every Fourth, Martha tries to rear her little head and make me crazy. Luckily, it's a holiday and I think that makes it harder for Loran to have my committed. In the end, we all have a good time and there are plenty of laughs and smiles to go around.
There was a slight mishap involving ladder ball and the telephone line.
We watched the fireworks at the end of our street. We stayed a little closer to home in case either girl didn't handle the show well. But, both did amazingly well. No tears or stress from the rockets red glare. Or so we thought...(see that, that's foreshadowing.)
Fireworks shows are better when you're covered in glow jewelry.
Only when we got home, did Ella bring out the real fireworks. Perhaps she had some built up anxiety from the fireworks, mixed with the three pounds of berries she's consumed all evening, but Ella ended up puking in the driveway and strategically in her stroller's cup holder. We stripped her down, hosed off the driveway and stroller and called it a night.
America Rules.
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