Independence Day

Our financier had bunches of work . . . but cheerfully sent us up to Coeur d'Alene in time for a cousin photo shoot at Opa's house.

Opa gave each kid their own flag, then we walked the short way over to Sherman Avenue to find our seats on the less sunny side the street for the parade. Deacon is modeling his treasure the flashy pinwheel--that he got after chasing down Snow White for a block--and if you asked him what his favorite part of the parade was, he'd reply, "the Princesses!" All four boys are super brave, and loved the loud motorcycles, very loud cruiser cars, and even the comparably quiet horses--although Bryce was a little distressed that there weren't tons of cowboys, Deacon pointed out that there were lots of nice cowboy-girls (I hope he never stops calling them that). Little Ava loved sitting with Papa Glen, who chaperoned us all (while Grandma Greta and Opa put together a delicious lunch for the hungry parade-goers).

After our delicious luncheon topped off by some so-very-good-you-don't-feel-guilty strawberry cake, our noisy little bunch headed over to see Granddaddy Dan. He rigged up the best afternoon distraction: a huge sprinkler near all the toy "houses". The kids loved racing like madmen back and fourth between the sprinkler and safety.

Granddaddy made a fantastic steak dinner--the boys loved the homemade french fries. And then we threw caution to the wind, and even though we'd let all the big kids skip any sort of rest time, we let them run crazy 'til 8:30 when Grandma Greta and Papa Glen appeared to see us off to the fireworks display. Last year we got so cold, so this year I sausaged my kids into their jeans and sweatshirts over top of their long sleeves jammies. (No one complained of cold this year; but Bryce had a bad case of as he put it 'sweating all over'). The boys were again so brave and thoroughly enjoyed all the noisy fireworks. Daniel and Bryce egged each other on announcing the colors of each starburst; cute at first until it turned into a yelling contest for all of downtown! A super sweet boy nearby gave all four boys a glow-in-the-dark stick, aka: swords. Roman and Deacon held a very Matrixesque duel, until someone (no doubt my child) accidentally let exuberance get the best of him and whipped the [excessively] grouchy lady in front of us. Then they were forced in to the stroller the swords became circles (until we'd forget).
(Also, we ended up in front of a small group of surprising loud and gregarious trashy folks--who were on fantastic speaking terms with every stumbling drunk. But the grouchy lady held her tongue with them.)
The fireworks were amazing. Of course, great at first, then even better, but finally you realize no one has spoken for minutes (not even the kids) because you're all completely captivated. . . then finally-finally the grande fanale comes and you know, once again, that the waiting, and missed bedtimes, and driving was all worth it! We got all our sleepy kids into the car, then into bed, and hallelujah my 6:30 am risers slept 'til 8:30, and so did I!


The next day we enjoyed the beach with Granddaddy and cousins. Bryce loved the beach and the waves, and Deacon loved dunking his own head in the water, incessantly. Granddaddy took all four little boys on a walk over to the dock and I had a good ten minutes all by myself, in a camp chair with my feet in the water, and warm sunshine on my face. I didn't know what in the world to do with myself--all alone. So I rinsed out and organized all the beach toys, checked the shoe pile, and then passed judgement on all the NIC girls wearing teeny weeny bikinis (until I realized that I would pay good money too like any one of them), and then I adjusted my "mom bathing suit", and re-learned how to relax at the beach I used to sunbathe at daily in high school.
Now tell me again: Why don't I live in beautiful Coeur d'Alene?