In Which Muriel Declares Independence from England and Being One

You guys, where to start? It has been one heck of a long weekend. I took Thursday off to get ready for a visit from my parents and my 12-year-old nephew. They got in that evening around the spaghetti and meatball hour. Naomi had been very excited for their visit- she's a devoted fan of Gramma, and Muriel is mildly obsessed with Grampa, but unfortunately for both elders, the girls' little hearts were swayed by the cousin. They followed that poor kid around, called out for him if he left the room, and glommed onto him in every way imaginable. And he was the best sport imaginable, really- what pre-teen boy would be as kind as that to two little maniacs? He deserves a medal.

We engaged in some low-key tourism on Friday, nothing out of the ordinary. Also, it was extremely hot, and I found an inflatable squirty thing we got for Christmas (thanks, AP!) in the basement and made Naomi's day.

Saturday was Independence Day (if you missed that somehow), which meant another trip north for the Kirkland Fourth of July Parade.


Yes to the WWII POWs, yes to the Veterans of Foreign Wars, YES to the Veterans for Peace, the Unicycle Kids, the Blue Thunder drum line, and the beloved DeLorean Club. But Kirkland, PLEASE add some musical numbers to your parade! Besides the drum line, we had some kind of church youth group banging pails, a band of Indian youths who chose not to play as they went past us, and the Rainbow City band, playing, you guessed it, Thriller. Not that I didn't appreciate it. But that was it for the whole parade. It's like going to a party where there's not enough food. It's nice that there's a party, but before long, it's difficult to focus on anything else except how hungry you are. Kirkland, gimme a beat!

It is with some shame and resignation that I further admit that Naomi declared her favorite part of the parade this time to be the girls with the puff balls (a.k.a., the cheerleaders from a local high school). Sigh.

After some sternly enforced napping back at the house, we had some traditional Fourth of July fare (here's where I admit in a nod to my previous simile that I fear I underfed my guests- especially my nephew, who is used to eating what his family eats- because I am in the groove of feeding the four of us, and was constantly running out of everything) in the backyard. We had agreed to try to see some fireworks, the first time for Naomi, so she stayed up LATER THAN EVER in the interest of this outing. My mom, being the best toy buyer I know, had brought presents for the girls that included a set of beautiful silk pieces in rainbow colors. Naomi accessorized with them all weekend long, and that is the reason she looked like this at the fireworks.
Oh- my mom had also bought her a super cute wristwatch, and someone told her the fireworks would start when the little hand was on the ten. At some point I thought it would be a good idea to go to the bathroom before they started, so we hit the portable, which was unfortunately pitch dark inside. Yikes. When we were in there, she started to sound a little panicky, and I was all ready to calm her down, and she said "This was a terrible idea!" Ha! She explained that it was too dark to see her watch, and what if the little hand made it to the ten, and the fireworks started, while we were in there?! Fortunately we made it back to the blanket. We had a good spot, good luck with parking, overall the kind of fireworks experience that would make you consider going again. Naomi enjoyed them with her hands over her ears the whole time. Happy Birthday, America!
It was fun to have my folks in town. While out doing their own thing, my parents went to Fred Meyer, which is a store here that sells really just about everything with the exception of cars and houses. They loved it- my dad said it was like Walmart, but cleaner and nicer! Sweet. A woman helped them at the watch counter, and because my dad is that guy, he asked her where her accent was from. Tobago, she told him, and then she asked him if he knew who he looks like. Fidel Castro. Ha! She said it was OK, Uncle Fidel loves his people. When my parents told me this story later, I had a stomachache from laughing. My dad has gotten Burl Ives and the occasional Santa, but Fidel is a new (awesome) one.

The rest of the weekend was focused on Muriel and her big party. We decided to have a barbecue Sunday afternoon, which turned into a fried chicken-cue instead. Jim went and bought friend chicken at some place in Seattle that is ostensibly quite famous for it (it was good), and we threw down the usual accompaniments. The party was fun (I thought) and well-attended, and included our dear friends and a visitor they brought along, friends from Naomi's school, a friend from Muriel's school, and one of her teachers and his wife and beautiful baby girl (who is Muriel's darling- she loves that baby). Oh, and a coworker of Jim's. Having Muriel's teacher there was excellent, not only because he is so nice, but because he obligingly demonstrated his super niceness to my parents (who are not always so subtle in their opinions of my status as a working mother), and they really liked him.

Muriel clearly comprehended that the party was for her. She looked wicked awesome in her birthday dress, and even kept her hair clips in for a while.

What I should really do is devote a post or five to the girl of the week. Muriel is such a fantastic and complicated little person. She is clever and musical, sympathetic, quick to anger, quick to apologize. She likes to sing and dance. She likes to go along with her sister, and utterly thwart her sister. She puts everything in her mouth, but rarely actually eats anything (food included). She makes funny faces. She insists on having her "injury" kissed whenever the dog licks her (no thanks!). She shouts the lyrics to "Doe, a deer" as though they are a rallying cry for freedom. She is the life of the party. And now she has been around for two years- can you believe it? We're so glad to have her.