Accidental Mardi Gras

     Over the weekend we were invited to Galveston to eat dinner and go to the beach with our friends, the Bremers and the Greers who have two daughters each.  After a beautiful Saturday afternoon we packed our warm clothes, some car snacks, and for Elijah's sake, picked up a friend for him and headed to the island.  So naive we were.  As we drove across the bridge we were welcomed by banners and signs about This parade and This party and This festival.  Totally forgot it was Mardi Gras.  I mean, I knew it was soon since Ash Wednesday is so close and the King's cakes are all over the place, but I forgot  the 12 days of partying that goes along with it before Fat Tuesday.  Luckily, our restaurant on the sea wall was a cinch to get to, had easy parking and was a front row spot to the Krewe of Gambrinus parade.  What luck!  For the next hour the kids ran in to eat and out to catch beads.   And by kids, I mean me and Elijah.  I don't know what it is about our collector spirits, but I wanted to catch those shiny purple, gold and green oversized necklaces as much as he did.  Something about the catch, the find and wearing the treasure for all to see.  Most of the night I had to be the parent and "give up" those darn, plastic beads to the kids around me who didn't have a neck full.  But it's always an inner battle.  It's like the cherry in a Sonic Lime-Aid.  I love that fruit.  I buy the drink specifically for the one, or if I'm lucky, two cherries.   But as soon as I open my styrofoam cup to dip my hand in to fetch it, I always hear a little voice, "Mama, can I have the cherry?"  Sure, kid, why not?  Forget my small desires. (I'm mostly kidding.)
It's tough to be a parent, or at least a self-less one.  I'm not that good at it yet, but I'm working on it.  One Mardi Gras bead at a time.