Lombardi Gras

Yesterday was one of the coolest days of my life. I left work around 12:30pm to pack up my car with el camera, 2.2 children, husband in tow and head out to the "big city" for Lombardi Gras or Dat Gras, as we're calling it. The Saints were coming. We gassed up our hot, family rod and plugged onto the twin span, faster and faster as WWL radio spewed through our speakers with commentary, thanks to Garland Robinette et Spud I'm no Potato McConnell. Kenzie chomped on her bag of chippies (Doritos, good call, mommala Lori) and cutie pie clementine for big boy, Aidan. We viewed the water and the waves as a brown pelican swooped over our car. Our family was ready for a Saints parade and all the hoopylala leading into this soon to be monumental time was completely worth all of the effort...and gasoline.
We landed round the city off of I-610 to I-10 around 2:45pm, still looking good on that digital car clock. Traffic was getting a bit heavier, but still tolerable. Kids slapped each other, J. and I studied the map for which exit to take off the interstate to lessen the load on the way onto the beginning of the Saints parade route. It was getting fun. I texted back et forth to Melissa for which exit SHE took, and where were they? Past the texts, we decided that Orleans/Vieux Carre Exit was indeed where we needed to go. And so, we exited and the traffic was a bit crazier. Limos abound, people hanging out of their windows off the interstate. You could feel the weight of something looming downtown, something just waiting for you, well, us.
We asked the kids to stop punching each other or they'd lose games, or something, promised HUGE happy meals at McDonalds (who says being a parent isn't all related to bribes?) and rocked on. Our family mobile came up on the Iberville Projects and I commented to J. that it looked like everyone and yes, their grandmother, grandfather, lil baby sister and nephew ta boot were walking up, driving up and happening upon this once-in-a-lifetime Saints parade. We had arrived. Well, almost.
15 plus minutes later and numerous curse words flying, we found a pay lot advertising "$20/event parking" on Poydras, made that bad ass left turn and then right into the garage and NOW WE'D ARRIVED! Our kids, Dora backpack, huge cam cam bag and everyone accounted for...ready to walk out of garage and down to find Melissa and Bruce and all of those Black et Gold Boys! We walked up the street (this following a potty stop inside a Hollyday Inn on Poydras) and I couldn't help feeling proud of my city. I was proud of the Saints. I was proud to be a part of history. I was proud my family was together and about to embark on a once in a lifetime occasion, Saints Superbowl parade to commemorate the World Championship...we are the champions! Feels good to say it, you can, I have over and over and...
We stepped up to the corner of Loyola and Poydras and wow! Pow, people like everywhere, and yes, I do mean, everywhere. They were in trees, on barricades, on top of lights, you name it, they had claimed their spot for the Saints festivities. We had arrived! I texted Melissa, who said she and Bruce were on the neutral ground side of Poydras Plaza by some funkadelic statues (????), so we progressed down the street further. People were smiling. Men with babies, women with cells calling and laughing with their friends saying, "...I'm in New Orleans and the Saints are here, they're coming!" I swear, you can't make this shit up, it was awesome.
We found what seemed to fit the description of "funkadelic statues," peered upon Fleur D Licious and a Chalmation Nation and looked around for the two friends. A few minutes later, not only did we locate them, but J.'s Aunt Carol. Wow, it was true that everyone was there, imagine this?
Family reunion pre-parade festivities.
Melissa and Bruce hung with us while I snapped over 100 photos of Drew Dat signs, crowd photo ops, children in trees, SuperFans, and my family. We clocked our watches and saw that it was nearly 1 hour away...The Saints were coming. Enter Mr. and Mrs. Positively Grumpy from Long Beach, Let Me Show You My Badge Mississippi. Let us just say at this point that not everyone who came to the Saints parade were there to give and show their love. It was a love fest and all they were concerned with was their lime green folding chairs, their spot held "since 2pm!!!!! dammit!!!!" and lastly, showing us something that was supposed to be a badge, probably had from the Dollar Tree (badges, we don't need no stinking badges!!!!!). Melissa knew we had a right to enjoy the movement that is still called FREEDOM. And so, not to bore (I know, too late), the nasty folk littered our ears with dull speak about not standing by them and blah blah blah and you get the picture, I offered beer to the beanie-wearing bitter mother person and well...I took my kids to the side by Aunt Carol, away from the negative, hormone-raging beast monster. Melissa decided to opt for hacking swine flu upon her beanie. God, the parade hadn't started and the excitement was just beginning.
We all braced ourselves for what was coming...first, the NOPD (what's not to love there?) on their shiny, new, bright blue bikes. Aidan and Kenzie second-lined with me and we reveled in the moment that they someday will enjoy thanks to their old mother's pictures commemorating the day of the Saints parade. Horses...the crowd pushed back...Fleur D Licious et Chalmation Nation took their spots upon coolers and we all got ready for the Black et Gold. The Saints were coming!
St. Augustine High School band came upon the scene...Major-elect, Mitch Landrieu smiled and waved upon a huge, old fire truck with his kids (and wife person?)...then, Saints!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hoisted up Aidan to see the players...J. told me later Drew Brees was on one of the first floats, which I missed, but then...The Offensive players...I threw Aidan up to the float and we high-fived a few of the dudes, including Stinchcomb, who I swear was dancing to some song and a tear came out of his eye. I cried. This shit was on. It was lovely and we were in it. Poydras freakin Plaza where people had died during Katrina, where bodies lay waiting for help, food, water, anything to make the pain of what the water had brought 5 years back. We were making history. We were making memories. New memories for our families. New memories for our city. The Saints had come and made everything better, just as a mother comforts a child that cries. They were our chakra, our healing power, our beautiful Black et Gold boys. We had arrived and New Orleans was back in this moment where I looked at my son's smiling face, the grandmother behind us laughing as she caught a gold, chain-linked bead from a players hands to hers. It was phenomenal how healing this was and could be for so many near and far. Thousands of people there in the crowd to just catch a glimpse of those beautiful boys. Coach P. lifted up that killer Lombardi Trophy and everyone freaked!?!?! The gold sparkled and shined and the crowd went absolutely bananas! Me, included. The sight of him blowing kisses and that which represented a Championship victory was enough for me, the Saints had come and kicked Colt ass. We had arrived.
My family stood in the 10-plus person deep crowd for hours and topped off the evening with a trip to Kenzie's first Port-O-Potty ("Kenzie, just hover and don't forget to move your beads, girl!") and a dance-off in front of Allegrio with a bunch of random Saints fans to some Crunky song. I danced, I lit my tail feather, my son wanted to break dance, but I stopped him short, telling him that he needed to suck down a Capri Sun instead. Hydration is good, I told him, and this wind was a killer. J. et I cuddled the kids and left Dance Party U.S.A. for the parking garage three plus blocks up Poydras. We passed a Utah film crew with a crowd of 30-40 Saints fans throwing themselves upon the commentator and cameraman, alike. We laughed as the wind spiked our hair into our faces and pushed up the street further. Our family entered the Hollyday Inn and plopped upon chairs in their bar where on CNN, there was Beautiful Brees, coming upon Gallier Hall in downtown NOLA, wow. Everyone stopped in their tracks and just stared at it, smiling. Yet another potty break and many minutes passed, we woke a sleeping Aidan from a couch in the bar and rocked up to our garage.
Thinking we had enough magic for one night, and that it couldn't get any better...Who should we happen upon but WHO DAT NATION BOBA FETT???????????!!!!!!!!!!! Aidan freaked. J. freaked. I freaked and snapped photos while Kenzie said, "Who's that Gold Man, mommy?" I did the explaining while snapping yet more photos (it's me, after all) and we thanked WHO DAT BOBA FETT for his beauty and good times and were off to find our car. A few minutes later, both children in tow (and some plastic piece under our bumper ripped to shreds, not me, thanks, J.), with WordGirl on the rear speakers, we were on Common Street in bumper to bumper traffic and I looked at J., his face still happy, he was still smiling. I was smiling and children were sleeping as we entered I-10 East towards our home in Slidell. Life was good. Life is good. We had arrived.
Mexican food rounded out our night, sleeping children tucked into their beds and all the beauty of the pm was posted on the net and littered upon every tv screen in our home. I am grateful for the good company, good friends and wonderfully amazing Saints crew that we were able to create such happiness with on Lombardi Gras. Dat Tuesday, indeed.

The Reflex

Ever close your child's head in a door? Well, this unfortunate occurance happened this pm to me, one very uncaffeinated mother person. Sadly, the victim of my slowed reflex was my son, Aidan. With the umbrella in hand, 2 mother bags in other, strattling to aim my son's head somewhere in the lost in-between, PUSH went the door and THWACK he was smackified. The lesson learned hear kids is that mistakes do happen. Mother's close their children's heads in doors. I know I am not the lone ranger on this frontier. Didn't this happen to Erma Bombeck and she later laughed about it??? Why am I not laughing.
Guilt-filled, I could not muster more than a bite or two of my pork chop-filled salad for dinner. I poured the bag of ice upon Aidan's knot just as I did tears and apologies.
Again I say, do moments like this occur in other mother's lives or am I just the lucky one?
Aidan ate him hamburger helper as my husband chastised me for my lateness to my brain and we called it an early night. I sit here ready for yet another school lecture on the computer wondering if his noggin be okay by morning light. One too mother bags later, I'm going to have to downsize and remember that we're all human. I did give birth to him and why ever would I seek out to harm him? Again, in vain I say, it was a mistake.
Aidan hugged me and said, "...it's okay, Mommy, I still love you." And with his hand to my head, patting me like a dog, it was the only reflex that was needed.

3 Children Full

An so, another fine Sunday morning to be had by me, one caffeinated mother. Hubby awoke with a bad case of stuffy, congestion, feverish and well, you get the picture. Children #1 and #2 stayed in their rooms long enough for me to brush a tooth or 2, brew a good pot of java, and make some toast for the people who would soon be bounding down the stairs of our home, ready for food products.
Child #3 would be the husband. I prepared a hot, make you feel better beverage for him in the hopes his spirits would make him rise out of the bed and at least be able to open an eye. Needless to say, when he feels badly, it is a bit like caring for a child. Needless to say, this is part of the vows of marriage, "...in sickness and in health..."
With 3 children fed, the day will be off to it's good start. Having been just handed some plastic french fries and told by Kenzielicious that it's for her babies and I need to "keep it safe from other babies who might eat it up," I will be off to go downstairs yet again, this time to ensure the child #1 and #2 have some educational moments they can treasure on this fabulous Sunday.
Ah, the life of a mother is grand.

Like an old song I once heard, I'M STILL HERE

Contrary to popular belief, I am NOT in a van down by the river, but rather poised with numerous books in hand. I'm the diligent student. The full-time travel agent by day and the part-time student by night. Exhaustion has replaced my real middle name.
Kids in bed early ((((((750pm)))))) means that I can enjoy a little "me" time. This "me" time consists of watching lectures...taking quizzes both online and otherwise...and well, collapsing in whatever chair is readily available to my ass.
Thank God for the sanity that he brings me day in and day out. Thank God for another day on this planet. I look at two recent events which are grossly incomparable: Haiti and the quakes and utter devastation and Conan and his 7 month tenure at the Tonight Show chair and can only wonder...what will tomorrow bring?
I'm ready. Nighty night.

A Blonde Again

I am back in my little girl bed, missing some front teeth and with my brilliant white hair. I had a Cabbage Patch doll with a dirty head, a room covered with barbie heads dipped in paint and a pretty fabulous single mom who was snapping my picture. Again I say, fabulous life, and what a good bunch of blonde hair I had on my head.
Flash forward to my semi-midlife crisis, feeling as though Obama is in his SEASON OF CHANGE, and apparently my head is too. I spent last Saturday at the chic chic Covington salon with Karleen's friend doing my do for nearly 5 plus hours to go retro, back into the white hair kind of life. I was trying to meditate something light and gwen stefani like as she dyed my hair like no other client before. Not looking into her mirror until the hair had been snipped like this and that, at the end it was blonde and I was dumbfounded that I'd asked her to do all this to my head. Back to that picture from my youth, it was such a great time. No bills, no worries, just pure childhood at its best and a mom that rocked it like nobody's business. And, yes, good hair that was brushed 100 times a night to make it glisten in the sun (so said my grandmother, and I believed every bit of it).
I showed up at home later, with goodies from the Covington Farmer's Market in tow (things that children would definitely turn their noses up at...stuffed grape leaves and white bean salad littered with some parsley and garlic), passing through the door to the kitchen where my mother, husband and two children sat, everyone turned to look at my new did. The blonde hair startled my son who muttered,"...when will you go back to your dark hair, mom?" Kenzie, though said,"Mommy. Hi, Mommy," and smiled. What a good day and yes, though a bit retro in colour, I'm loving my not so Marilyn Monroe do.

Hormonal Gravy Train

Earlier this week, it seems as though while riding the hormonal gravy train, I decided I could take no mo. Being a mother is a rough ride, some days, while others are all the good times and more, but I really don't have to go there, do I? My choo choo train car apparently derailed and I was thrown into I CAN TAKE IT NO MO LAND. I was tired and sick and, well, I guess it'll all be blamed on the rash of cool weather and my very hot hot flannel sheets. And, oh yes, my birthday. I cannot believe I'm at the point where multitasking has taken a backseat and the simple moments, like sleeping in my bed or in a chair with a good book, have become so wonderfully exquisite.
I treated myself on my birthday to a Mr. Starbucks Frappacino with, of course the extra shot of expresso to keep me alive and kickin. Happy Birthday to me-30 something years later-my choo choo and chugged along to a fabulously lovely place called motherhood. It is a nice land, but sometimes I just want to be myself again...the photographer, the journalist and writer, the student, the rebel, the punk, the skater girl, the groupie, the what the hell ever I was way back when. I know it's still me, but sometimes I feel lost, like those times romping through the graveyards from here to Mexico are oh so necessary. I'd really like to reclaim it all, ya know? Oh God, that's too fu*kin Oprah, right? TO RECLAIM my individual self, um, separate of my child persuasions. Anyway, so that was part of my self reflection choo choo ride this week and last. Good times then and now. I guess I just feel like an OLDER woman and I came to the conclusion that with all this staring into the looking glass, the getting older part might not be so bad.

All I Want For Christmas is...

Wake up Sunday morning and wash my hair, which apparently these days takes several hours. Perhaps it's just that I love the water, perhaps it's that the children and husband persuasion leave me to my moment in the shower-that exquisite time alone. Ah, bliss. Onto my story...
And so I wash my nappy roots and proceed to wake up everyone slowly but surely to ready themselves for my Christmas present...a family portrait. I'd purchased the outfits for the family the day prior, minus my husband's, and now just had to dress everyone up with my love (sorry, Madonna popped into my head).
Hair did, I grabbed fabulous Mimi to help get Aidan going...the red clip on tie, the black pinstripe vest and pants...she got him suited up nicely and my boy looked so old. Onto Mackenzie next, black velvet bolero jacket and maroon and black velvet (to tha floor) dress with a complimentary black silk flower on the hip. She was topped off with hair down and a wonderfully thick black headband ("...mama, head-ban..." she says over and over). 2 kids done, I skipped around the house happily, in my new purple dress (a girl needs color, right?) and velvet heels (yes, I said it out loud), all in the thought that I would be getting today all that I wanted for Christmas. James suited himself up in diggs similar to that of Johnny Cash, black button down, black pants, with the only splash of color being his tie-a little green and maroon for the hollyday. We grabbed the kiddos' hands and hauled our cookies off to the car to make our way to Mr. Walmart.
Walking into Walmart, in our Sunday best, people smiled. The kids looked amazing and Mr. Cash and I did, as well. We were on time for our 10am appointment, but our photo gal was not. The family unit progressed to the photo area and all heck broke loose. Aidan decided he'd ham it up by opening and closing his mouth all while the photo gal tried to snap for posterity. Kenzie tried to smile while upon my lap, Mr. Cash uttering, "...Aidan, close your mouth and make the magic happen for your mother-this is ALL SHE WANTS FOR CHRISTMAS!?" Wow. Believe it or not, but 25 frames later, we had it. I ordered a 16X20 that is to go above our mantel, holiday background and all, replacing the family photo taken long ago a la Mr. JcPennys with Aidan, J. and myself (Aidan was just 6 months young at the time). I also ordered a lovely photo of Kenzie et Aidan, both of them smiling!!!!!!!!!!!!! The deed was done and after all of that preparation, it was worth it. If I figure out how to scan any pics into this computer thing, perhaps you'll get to see one or 3...