Blah.

This morning, while riding down the road in the pouring rain, I listened to my 3 year old speaking "T-Rax" in the backseat. T-Rax, if you didn't know, is apparently a series of grunts and growls used to communicate with a T-Rex. I, of course, needed him to translate. Which, unfortunately, is how I feel about a lot of talking going on around me lately.

I feel like a zombie. I get up, get everyone dressed, take everyone where they need to be, work, pick everyone up, take everyone home, and then get everyone through the evening and ready for bed.

It's automatic.

It's a schedule.

Every. Single. Day.

I feel like I am about to hit a wall. A very large, glitter free wall.

I feel like the sparkle is gone. How do you have sparkle when every single day is planned out? I feel like my sparkle is gone. Our small living space has completely zapped me of any creative juices. The chilly, rainy weather has zapped me of any adventure.

I feel like a shell.

I need change. I need creative outlet. I need warmth. I need space!

Is it spring yet?

Weekends Are For... Mardi Gras!

Let me just paint a picture for you...

It's 2007 and Mason Luke is barely over 1 year old when I decide to brave the crowds and take him to the Crewe of Columbus parade. It would be just him and I, but my dad would be meeting us down there and his family would all be there to cheer on my uncles as they ride so I can handle it.

The parade itself goes off without a hitch. He seems to enjoy it about as much as any 1 year old would enjoy anything, so I chalk it up as a good decision. And then it was time to leave...

I load him up in the car, buckle him in, and start on my way through a maze of bumper to bumper traffic and a whole lot of sitting and waiting. Then it happens. He starts puking. And puking. And puking some more.

Ten minutes later my backseat looks like the bathroom of a frat house on a Sunday morning and I am stripped of my overshirt attempting to clean up a naked, cranky toddler as best as I can behind a Church's Chicken while herds of people scream at the parade still rolling.

An hour and lots of backroads later, I arrive home with puke in my hair and all over my car with a sleeping, naked toddler on my shoulder. Which is how I had to drive home. The ENTIRE way.

Mardi Gras- 1      Mom and Mason Luke- 0

After that super pleasant with child Mardi Gras, I haven't been in a hurry to attempt it again. Mason is 7 now and has not been to a parade since.

Until this past weekend.

And I must say, this time it was a much better experience.

 The kid was a natural! This can be proven by the large sack full of stuffed animals we went home with. Stuffed animals who are slowly but surely running away to the Goodwill...



Happy Mardi Gras, Y'all!