Cold Spaghetti

… happen by the light of a glow stick throw.

The sounds of the bands gearing up for the parade a block away were too tempting, so even though I was in a board meeting, Paul put the kids on the ladder and rolled them to the corner. By the time I got home, the parade had been thoroughly enjoyed, kids were bathed, and Paul had taken this photograph of Will and his prized light stick.

How does a New Orleans family do it?  All the parades, all the loot, all the accessories… we must tote the costumed kids, the ladders, the stools, the coolers and the snacks…?

This is how we do it.

(By the way, yesterday, Kate was a cowgirl and Will was Peter Pan.)

I’m sure others have done the kid-riding-on-the-ladder thing, but we still get stares.  Mostly, it’s parents looking at us going, ‘why didn’t we think of that?!’

Paul admits that this would be hard to do if he’d been drinking all afternoon.

(Side note: The costumes today were Mardi Gras Butterfly and Superman.)

Oh, and Will’s new thing?  To correct the way we say “Mardi Gras” to the French pronunciation.  Basically, it’s just like how we say it now, but with the added inflection you’d give it if you were trying to dislodge something stuck in the back of your throat.  It’s what makes all things in French sound so pretty.

Aren’t I allowed just one beefcake picture? Gotta get it all out of my system before Lent, you know!

While Paul does the heavy lifting, I follow with cooler, accessories, and loot bags.  Randomly stopping to photograph festivities along the walk…

It’s Mardi Gras time!

We kicked off Mardi Gras this afternoon with our first parade of the season: Krewe of Pontchartrain!

The kids costume-d up a bit.

I’m sorry.  I should have warned you of the cuteness.  It’s almost too much.

Consider yourself warned.

Had enough yet?

Just one more.  ’cause it’s all about the boots.

Kate refuses to sit in the ladder.  I vaguely remember Will pulling a similar stunt when he was her age… a certain incident involving him freaking out and jumping head first into the crowd below deciding to climb off of the ladder in the middle of a night parade and aging me 10 years in 2 short seconds.  Thankfully, we thought ahead this year, and invested in a step stool.  It rocks.

Here’s the King, poor guy.  He completely won my heart.  Who cares if I lose the ‘stache in the first two blocks of the 2 mile parade?  I AM WAVING, Dammit!

One of the first marching bands was here from Anapolis — the boat school kids — representing the U.S. Naval Academy.  (My Dad is also a boat school alum.)

They ALL had these looks of disappointment on their faces.  Look at the kid with the camera.  I think he was expecting a lot more boobies.  Sorry, Charlie.

Uh, well, maybe not Charlie.

You know what I mean.

Eventually, the riding floats came along, each with a “name that love song” theme.

Lots of red beads today.  With it being Valentine’s and all.

Hey, that’s Ben!  Whoo-hoo for Panorama Jazz Band!

The song for the float below is “I Just Called to Say I Love You.”  I totally rocked the Song-Naming Game.

It wouldn’t be a Mardi Gras parade without kids playing ball.  Whoa, Dad.  That’s a little long, doncha think?  No more Turbo Dog for you.

Kate is practicing her “Hey Mister” line.

If you’re new to this whole Mardi Gras thing, you may be asking: how does this throw thing work, anyway?  Well, first, a rider see you.

Like this.

You give him a look, or thumbs up, to show that you are ready.  Even if you’re holding a camera.

Uh-ho!  Here it comes!  Get ready to catch…

Which means PUT DOWN THE CAMERA!

For the record, I caught it.  The only one I missed this afternoon, Paul caught over my hand.  Let’s hope that keeps up a bit more this season.  (Knock on wood.)

Just in case this whole Mardi Gras thing doesn’t look fun enough yet, I give you PINK SLIP.  I particularly like how they are singing for us in front of the prayer sign.  This is a pre-lenten festival, after all.

Happy Mardi Gras, y’all!

We knew it would come.  We just figured we had until the contract ended in a month.  Turns out, things went a bit faster than planned.  Thank goodness Paul obsesses over Quicken we’re thrifty.   So we’re on Day Two of no billable hours for Paul, and predicting this will reach into a third day… or more.

No demonstrable household income* = Lemons

Having some time to work on the house = Lemonade!

Like getting back to the front yard, which we hadn’t seen in a long while.  Weeding, top soil, mulch… and it’s a different place all together.  Remember us bricking in the plant beds? Time to finally get those last bags of concrete and mortar off the porch!  A few more days and the middle bed will be done.

We used our child labor to help on weed control.

We haven’t forgotten about that 4+ year and going renovation in the back!  More on that soon.  It’s just too overwhelming to get into tonight.

—

*No demonstrable income, meaning, nothing that we really can speak for or give strong evidence towards… as opposed to the little spurts of cash I bring in.  Some good news, though: I was recently offered a summer adjunct position to teach in the School of Social Work.  And a grant project I was written into as a consultant was funded.  So it’s not like I’m a total loss?

Haydel’s is the current King Cake Champion in this house.

At least, until we’ve tried a MacKenzie’s.  Must not leave a stone unturned!

Oh, and Haydel’s?  They put the baby IN the cake, the way nature intended.

My children will one day describe the torture we inflicted upon them during Carnival season by waiting nearly a month to buy a king cake.  But we did it, officially: we have had our first King Cake. In our defense, we tried to buy one a day or two earlier, but Whole Foods had nothing but “Berry Chantilly” left and that just wasn’t happening.

On recommendation, we got one from Rouse’s.

The baby is thrown in the center these days, which is a shame, but there you have it.  Will wanted the baby something terrible, even before we opened the box.  He has been asking for King Cake since they made one in school… on Epiphany.  Poor guy waited a long time.

I’m a bit of a local oddity in that I don’t have a favorite King Cake.  Yet.  I do know that I’m not into the fruit fillings.  Last year, I stood in line for a Randazzo’s cake and it was good, but a bit too cinnamon roll sweet for me.  Rouse’s was good, but I think I’d opt for cream cheese next time as the plain seemed like something was missing?  We are open for suggestions on who to try next.

Will is especially ready for more.

First, it was the Nuovo Anno Art Show.  Actually, it turns out I didn’t photograph much of the art.  Huh.

In my defense, I was drunk off the giddy high of being out past 8pm.  Granted, Will was with me, eating a vat of peanut butter and chocolate chip gelato big enough to bathe in, happily playing on the computer with his friends in the back office.  But for most of the evening, it was adult conversation.

Emmy and I owe great thanks to Paul, who stayed in with Kate and Elliot.  We came back at 10pm to find Paul hoarse, having read 12 stories to the two sleeping buddies cuddled together on the couch.

Here are some things I picked up from this (big) Night Out:

– PlayhouseDisney.com is a good place to go for internet games for kids.  The “sandwich game” is recommended.

– Spanish speaking parents keeping their kids in French school is a good plan: you can cover more of Europe that way.

– Maternity leave can help you refocus on the good points of your job.

– Third babies are way chill.

Then, the following night was girls’ night.  It was pretty low-key, mostly because I volunteered my house  with the (almost) sleeping kids in the back.  This was my first real girls night in a long, long time, so I kept my eyes open for rules.

The first rule is to arrive.  This is actually more of a challenge than it seems: one of the assembly fell asleep while putting her child to bed and didn’t make it.

The second rule is that women should protect the fantasy that girls nights are big tickle parties between women wearing white panties.  In the future, we will do a better job of taking pictures of our underwear on the ceiling fan just to keep hope alive.

The third rule is married women with children are fascinated by the stories of what other adults do when they don’t have to worry about cleaning macaroni off the floor each night.  Sex clubs.  Tribute bands.  The knowledge of how to pay for a round of drinks.

That’s two nights out of the house, back to back.  I’ve officially met my quota of personal time for the next 3 years.

Cold weather accessories taken out, as a rare necessity.  Also necessary: modeling them.

(The glasses influenced the Photoshop actions.)

Aftermath. That’s the Photohunt theme for this week.  Do I have pictures of aftermath?  Does the Pope wear a funny hat?

I thought about just skipping the week all together.  I’m not really in the mood to think about aftermath.  But here’s one.  Of many.

Also, I’m linking to pictures, and more, of aftermath.  They just scratch the surface.

Both the ugly.

And the recovery.