Audrey and Millie sprung out of bed at the crack of dawn in anticipation of our neighborhood 4th of July parade where they were riding on their school "float". To call them excited would be an understatement. They were chomping at the bit, bursting at the seams, raring to go. You get the idea.
I was, well...decidedly not.
No, I was sullen and grumpy. Don't get me wrong, I love my neighborhood, my neighbors, the girlies' school... It's just that I wanted to be lazy on my mid-week day off. I wanted to leisurely drink cups of coffee and read and just generally mill around being patriotic in the comfort of my own (air conditioned) home. (Yes, I realize it was the crack of dawn, but it's Texas, heat is a 24x7 situation.) But said parade was not an optional situation...the girls were obsessed (and there was no way I was going to willingly create fodder for their future therapy sessions), so I dragged myself to the festivities, smiled, rode on the "float" (i.e. the back of a pick-up truck) with the kiddos, sweated profusely, and didn't complain even once. But man was I bummin'.
The rest of the day, however, was my kind of independence day fun. We sipped fizzy, minty, lemon/lime gin cocktails and ate burgers and roasted potatoes and grilled corn and spicy green beans and pasta salad and watermelon (and that aforementioned hand pie/ice cream action). We swam, lit sparklers, hung out with friends, watched fireworks with neighbors, my sweaty parade angst melting away in the midst of all the festive loveliness.
And then late last night, as I was putting a sun-worn, exhausted little Millie to bed, she looked up at me and mumbled, "today was the best day ever." I asked her what her favorite part was, and (you know where this is going, right?), without missing a beat, she emphatically responded,
And then she conked out...