Unlike last year, we didn't manage to catch any photos of us standing behind the banner as part of the parade. The year prior, we didn't even know the parade was an option.
Rory, at least, sang again later on in the day: we caught that (and found out it was the same set as they'd done earlier).
We walked as part of the parade, and then saw Rory dance as part of the opening ceremonies. After that, I managed to convince everyone over to the beer tent. I mean, they had shade, and benches where Christine could nurse Aoife, after all...
Ah, me. Aoife's first beer enclosure.
And of course I wore my kilt. Where else might I even be able to? Aoife wore the onesie with Nova Scotia tartan we'd picked up for Rose a couple of years back, and Rose wore her more recent kilt.
Rory was singing at 2:30pm, back by the Clan Barns, so we headed that way. Once that was over, toddler Rose, despite the ice cream, was starting to melt down (her lack of nap wasn't helping), so we wandered back to the farm. But not, of course, before I managed to snag a new t-shirt (I'd hoped for one for Rose, but they were long out of kid sizes).
On Sunday, we headed across the road to my sister's house for her annual bbq. Given we'd purchased Rose a recorder (we were calling it a "flute") to keep her settled during a dollar-store run en route to the Games, she and I walked over as Christine and Aoife drove, so Rose could play it as loud as she could (she'd felt stymied by our suggestions to play it softly in the house; neither my father nor Christine were impressed with her constant playing). I HAD HER PLAY IT VERY LOUD.
My father asked: You're going to take that with you, aren't you?
She enjoyed catching her own echo from the trees, so she yelled: Hah! Hah! Hah!
Emma accompanied her into the pool for a bit, before she tired of it, and I took over. It was a struggle to finally convince her to come out.
Rose loved corn. More than a couple of times, she simply served herself, picking another cob or half-cob from the plate. She spent the whole day either running, or playing upon the trampoline.
The next morning, I went first thing for coffee etc at the Tim Horton's on Highland Road, and discovered a truck had missed a curve and plowed into a row of trees. The front was caved in, the passenger door ajar and the truck was sitting on a row of stumps, making it impossible to move (they've been expanding boundary road lately). Hoping the driver was okay. Presuming a middle of the night event. By the time I returned with coffee, there was already someone checking out the truck. By the time we were leaving, the truck had disappeared and a cop car was resting nearby.
My father didn't recognize the description of the truck.
While looking at flowers, she insisted on doing some kind of 'flower-dance' (instead of allowing me to take a still photo).
And then it was Dairy Queen in South Lancaster for lunch, before both girls slept the bulk of the drive home.