My senior year of college, I had a car on campus.  Granted, it was one of my Dad's fleet, so it was ginormous and kind of slow.  Also?  I was damn glad to have it.

The drive from the Eastern Shore of Maryland to Lewiston, Maine is 500 miles.  I averaged a ten hour journey, what with my Diet Coke habit and bladder size.  With typical 20-something exuberance, I thought it was all great fun.  

In typical East Coast fashion, I went through at least part of 8 separate states:  Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Maine.  (I mention this because it would take me ten hours to drive to El Paso from Austin and I'd still be in Texas.)

I marvel at my parents' trust in me and confidence that I would make the drive safely.  I am a safe driver; this is true.  I was surrounded by massive amounts of steel; this is also true.  However, I am their youngest child!  And this was before cell phones!  Ugh.  I clearly have some lessons to learn.  I literally walk Jack to school every morning and watch him walk through the doors and into the cafeteria before I walk away.  (Today, I watched him walk through the cafeteria line and purchase a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos to have later for snack.  You're busted, kid.)

Anyway, I also marvel at my younger self's ability to drive 500 miles and like, not be dead tired when I got there.  I probably unloaded the car and then went to a party.  Oh, college.

In startling contrast to these good old days on the road to Bates, we drove to New Orleans for Thanksgiving this year.  

I learned a lot during this time on the road, which can be summarized thusly:

1.  I am not as young as I used to be.  

2.  Jack and Sawyer are not as old as I used to be (in those college driving days).  

3.  Eleven hours in the car with two children is *about* eight hours too many for it to go well.

Here are the highlights.

After years of visiting Durel's parents in Katy, our bladders and internal clocks are set like Greenwich Mean Time to stop at Hruska's in Ellinger, Texas.  So, obviously, we did.

That was a good choice, as it always is.

Sawyer had his first kolache -- ham and cheese.  Despite the bright morning light bisecting his face, he was enthusiastic about the entire experience.

Jack knows his way around a kolache, which means he was able to overlook their dazzling array and instead, hone in on a cinnamon bun as big as his head.  You can't say no to that.  Well, you can, but we were trying to stave off tantrums for another four hours, at least.

A few hours later, we stopped at Cracker Barrel.  Despite my stubborn support of Cracker Barrel, our experience was, at best, underwhelming.  There were some cute moments, though.

There are not pictures of the low points of the drive.  Trust me, there were low points.  Durel and I were a little punchy as we neared our destination.

And then, just as Cracker Barrel had disappointed us, the liquor laws of Louisiana did not.

Eleven hours and 44 ounces of daiquiri later, we were there.  (Oh Lord no, we didn't finish them.  But it was nice knowing that we *could have* if we'd wanted to.)

Hope your holiday journey has its own rewards.  Also, hope you get to mention bladders twice today and feel really good about it.

Talk soon,
Heather

Mardi Gras, part three. The Property.

When I was in third grade, my parents took us to New York in November.  To see the windows, of course.  (Christmas window displays in Manhattan are hard to beat.)  We took a horse drawn carriage ride around Central Park.  We ate breakfast at some fancy place where I got a hot chocolate that was literally to die for. We rode in checker cabs.

Checker cabs could seat four passengers, because they had flip-down seats attached to the back of the driver and passenger seats.  Checker cabs are not safe and are extinct.  I thought they were amazing.  I thought pretty much everything was amazing.

I also gaped at the world from the top of the Empire State Building.  I couldn't believe all that city below me.  I couldn't believe all the cabs.  I started counting.  I got to thirty or so when the light changed and they all zoomed away.  

*     *     *     *

As a kid, Durel recalls his Uncle Larry's property as a huge place full of adventures.  There were pigs.  There were trees, maybe hundreds.  There were alligators in the creek (right, Durel?).  There were fishing trips.  There was always a boat.  And there was Uncle Larry and Aunt Sue.

I'm sure "the property," as it is still known to us, is smaller to Durel now that he's a legit grown-up, but we saw a glimpse of the mystique it had to him when we took Jack and Sawyer there on our recent trip to New Orleans.

Jack will never forget it.  He is already asking when we can go back.

Because:

Baby chickens!

Grown up chickens!

Eggs to gather! (And pants to pull up!) 

Crawfish to eat! (Once Mom peels them for you.)

His world was busier that day than my view from the top of the Empire State Building.  He had to feed the baby chicks (Green grass.  GREEN, Mom.)  He had to feed the grown-up chickens.  (Bread, Mom.)  He had to gather the eggs with Uncle Larry.  (So carefully, Mom.)  He had to play with the dogs.  He had to eat the crawfish.  He had to do it all again.

Watching him gave us all a rosy glow.

As for SawDog, he had a rosy glow, too, in the arms of his new favorite, Aunt Sue.

He's still deciding about Uncle Larry.

I think that means another trip is required.  (And this time, I want a drive-through daiquiri.)

Hope you remember the grand scale of things today.

Talk soon,
Heather

Mardi Gras, part two. The parade.

I like to think that after ten years, I speak "conversational" New Orleans.  I'm not fluent.  I'm not a native.  But I can get by.

Mardi Gras involves a whole new set of vocabulary, though.  I knew what a king cake was.  I did *not* know that they make king cake flavored daiquiris.  (They are delicious.  I know you doubt me, but they are.)  I did not realize that you can (and should!) buy daiquiris by the gallon.  I'm sorry, by the *multiple* gallon.

I did not realize that going to a party at a house on a parade route is the Holy Grail of Mardi Gras experiences.  

Party = fun and people

House = bathroom

Parade route = beads

All of those things in the same place = victory

We were lucky enough to spend Saturday with friends (and friends of friends) at such a party.  The parade was Endymion.  (I also learned that which parade you are watching makes a difference.  This is advanced, folks.  There's a lot to learn.)  

Endymion is a big parade.  And it's not in the French Quarter.  Or, at least, we weren't in the French Quarter, so we weren't packed like sardines in a tin. (So slip off your shoes and put on your swim fins...nevermind.)

Despite our relative personal space for the Endymion experience, we still had to get to the party like four hours before the parade started.  So that we could park in the same ZIP code as the house where we were meeting our friends.  The whole city really does shut down, and you have to do your best to strategically locate yourself, despite the gridlock.

No, four hours of partying before the parade starts is not a hardship.  We had food and friends and (as previously mentioned) bathrooms.  However, when you are five years old and REALLY EXCITED for the parade, that can be a lot of time to kill.

Jack chilled out with a bubble gun he found, and his Moto GP headphones, which we brought just in case.

Sawyer gave us baby side-eye at the entire experience.

Seriously?  Plastic beads.  Seriously.

I passed the time with selfies.  As we do.

And when the parade started, we were prepared.

The headphones were quickly abandoned.

This whole "kids on a ladder" phenomenon is like, a done thing.  They build little "box seats" on top of the ladders so the kids can sit there and catch beads.  Seriously, I felt like an anthropologist.

As the sun set, the parade continued, but we took our tired selves and our kiddos home.  I can say with confidence that the party continued.

Hope your weekend is culturally enlightening.

Talk soon,
Heather

PS: Check out my guest blog today!

In further proof that it's all about six degrees of separation, I am delighted to refer you my guest blog post on JourneyChic today.  It's one of my favorite style and design blogs, and I'm helping out another blogger mama with today's post!

Where, incidentally, I mention Mignon Faget, New Orleans jewelry designer whose work I love, and whose work echoes the spirit of her fine city:

Mignon Faget

Check it out!  Thanks for reading!