Bakers knead me to bake fresh bread, but in a sunny garden, I wear a colorful head of petals. What am I?

I am born from falling winter precipitation, standing tall with a carrot nose and button eyes, but a sunny afternoon causes my complete meltdown. What am I?

I swung to announce the very first public reading of the Declaration in July, but today I stand preserved in silent reverence because of my defining fracture. What am I?

I am a tight squeeze between your fingers given to anyone who forgets to wear green, but when you are in a tight spot, I can help you out at the last second. What am I?

What kind of coat is completely impossible to put on when the weather turns cold?

I have a barkless dog inside a seamless bun, hot off the grill and wrapped in paper at a July picnic. What am I?

Born from paper trash and shredded dreams, I am thrown into the air like royalty at midnight only to be swept away by a broom the next morning. What am I?