I’ve been meaning to catch you up on our spring break. The one that left Lucy stranded with me on an iceberg, stuttering into the wind about how it didn’t feel much like spring, curly lips turning blue and eyes watering in the arctic wind. The one that saw us celebrating two birthdays: Grant’s 11th and Jenn’s, well, 11th ish. The one I will write about so I have a record of it so that if I ever forget what we did and how we laughed and how very much fun we had together. But that’s a post for another day. Because today we, just husband and I, flew the coop and landed in the Big Easy. The place where every restaurant serves gumbo and the word voodoo is sprinkled liberally around all the shops and bars. A town that smells from the Mississippi River to the upper Garden District of hangovers and horse piss. It’s an interesting place. And we’re exploring it, tentatively surely, but we are exploring.
Meanwhile the Smalls are home with our favorite sitter and her nearly one year old baby, who they are all doting over. Grant was fitted for instruments today and fell in love with the Baritone, heaven help us. Could we not start out with a piccolo or a flute? Peter whispers into the phone how cute Baby Molly is so no one hears that he has already fallen totally in love with her. Tess lisps to me that Baby Molly has puller her headband out. Twice. Can you stand it? And Lu has been caring for the baby all day, helping to change her diapers and bossing Molly’s mama around, I’m sure. They are happy and we are happy and this whole thing is a gift we don’t accept lightly.
More to come from New Orleans and spring break (even though winter is refusing to let go it’s grip).
This is me being real. Have you ever been to New Orleans? If so, what must we see before we head home on Saturday?