Friday night, the babies kept waking up every 45 minutes. Talon didn’t want to sleep. She only slept when I nursed her on the couch. When I went to put her down in her crib, she cried. I went to lay in my bed with her and let her nurse there but couldn’t sleep because I had to keep a hold of her because she could fall over to the edge. (We don’t have a co-sleeper net because Taylor sleeps on an improvised bed on the floor). Well, finally, around four in the morning, Talon fell into a deep sleep and allowed herself to sleep in the crib.
Our plans were to wake up early, have breakfast early, and be ready to go to the parade half-past eight. But I didn’t wake until seven, and we were rushing to make breakfast, change the babies, and get ready. In spite of waking half an hour late, we were ready to go five minutes after we had originally planned.
We piled into the van and rode a mile (yes, just a mile) to the corner where we park the van every year for the parade. This year’s parade didn’t top the previous years’. It could have been better and more organized. Not that I’m volunteering or anything. I think, however, one of these years, we’ll make our own float.
Our children collected candy that was thrown by the parade’s participants. It landed on the street, close to their feet, and the children gave it to us — GAVE it to us. Afterward, we walked to the park where, upon arriving, we saw the bounce house. Dad said, “We are not going in that thing.” No problem on my side; the fewer square yards to get lost, the better. I sat on a bench with the babies while Dad watched the three older children. We didn’t take our radios. After about twenty minutes, we lost one.
Taylor was jumping in the bounce house when I found her. She took a three and a half hour time-out in her room when we got home. Actually, she napped.
We went home to see the F-16 fly-over from our front yard. There were four F-16s from the Air Base down south. A few minutes later, we saw a pair of WWII era bombers that were flying higher and probably coming from the airport on the west side of town.
For lunch, Dad grilled hot dogs, which we topped with cold, delicious sauerkraut. We spent the afternoon pondering and talking about the men who signed their lives for independence and concluded that wishing a “Happy 4th” had different connotations than wishing a “Happy Independence Day” and that the former is wrong while the latter is correct. For dinner, Dad cooked up cheese burgers, and we had them with baked beans and husk-roasted corn.
Around 8:30pm, the fireworks started at Black Point Marina, where we saw them from our front yard. We didn’t go outside until everyone had finished eating dinner, so it was half an hour into the display.
We came back inside to eat watermelon slices, but the fireworks kept calling us out. We stood out there for another fifteen minutes, and the air started getting thick with smoke (the Ridge Rats also do their neighborhood redneck fireworks display).
As we were coming inside, Kyle told me that his tooth was bothering him. I wiggled it and noticed that it was way more, uh, wiggly than it was even hours before. The corn must have done its part in wiggling the tooth. While I was in the shower, Dad came in to tell me that Kyle got tired of his tooth and pulled it out.
Pulled it OUT! We told Kyle that the Tooth Fairy would visit him not that night but the next night because she was watching the fireworks. (The Tooth Fairy doesn’t leave coins or cash; she leaves toys).
It was a lovely Day of Independence.
