The weekend was a gift.

Saturday – a morning hike down a wide gravel path through woods to a small bayside park.  It is chilly. We walk over a boardwalk to the little beach.  The sand is white, and the boys shift it into piles here and there while the baby snoozes in an Ergo on his father’s back, while I walk to the end of the pier and linger over the bay for a bit.  After the boys have had their fill of sand-piling, we head back to the car, then grab some fried chicken at Popeye’s drive through.  Having been reminded that he was born in New Orleans, Liam declares that he loves the red beans and rice.  Jack asks what North Carolina food he could learn to love, since that is his home state.  Our Alabama native, Mr. Craig, seems content to love all things, no matter their state of origin, and he eats up mashed potato, tiny bits of chicken, red beans, biscuit . . . after a slow start on solids, the boy will eat anything now.

After naps we load the boys up to go a party and parade at a nearby town.  This is my favorite Mardi Gras experience in Mobile – this night, this party, this krewe.  It’s the third time we have attended the same party at the same house.  Last year we had a wee Craig in the carrier, only a few weeks old.  This year, the big boys eat king cake and have sword fights in the backyard with other kids that attend, while the Professor and I chat with friends and pass the baby back and forth.  He tries to eat my face, laughs at me being silly.  The parade starts, and we all traipse a block away to the route to catch our beads.  Liam manages to convince our tallest friend to hike him up on his shoulders, so he gets a high seat.  The Professor and I take turns hanging in back with the baby.  The parade is superhero themed – Captain America, Spiderman, the Hulk.  We catch a few footballs, some beads, one or two stuffed toys.  One little boy catches a pregnancy test – luckily it is still in the box, wrapped in cellophane.  His parents are good sports about it.

Sunday we play hooky from church.  We have sunny weather, perfect for a family game of football in the backyard.  The baby sits in the grass and watches us, hands at his sides, content.  Jack is good at throwing, a very fast runner, but still learning the rules of touch football.  The four year old and I are tied for worst players, though he’ll soon eclipse me I imagine.  Girls can be good at sports, of course, but this girl didn’t play them enough, and I for sure have no natural talent.  I think the boys can learn from watching me try my best and not be embarrassed at my absolutely terrible showing.  Sometimes we do things we aren’t good at, and put a brave face on, and aren’t ashamed.

Sunday night we grill turkey burgers, and eat them with chips and BBQ baked beans at the kitchen table.  After the children are bathed and put to bed, the Professor and I watch Downton Abbey (really, it’s getting impossibly silly), and then Better Call Saul.  A few hours later I wake up feeling sick, and throw up all night.

The week begins.  I have deadlines Monday, so I go to work – I feel ok enough to manage.  My back hurts a lot, so I stack books under my monitors and keyboard to make a temporary standing desk.  Late Monday afternoon I am overtaken with fever, and I sit down at my chair and crane my neck to see the computer screen way up high – too weak suddenly to shift the heavy books back out from under the monitors.  I drive home as soon after 5 as I can, and the Professor stays late and puts everyone to bed so I can rest and shiver on the couch.  Tuesday I take the day off and stay home.  My nanny calls in sick.  I am told to join a conference call right during pick-up time, so I dial in and put the phone on mute while I drive the boys home, set them in front of the tv, put the baby into bed.  I think I make it through the call with nobody noticing, but the partner tells me later that at one point after making a comment I forgot to mute the phone and they all heard me tell Jack to put down his bear and quit sucking his thumb.

I’m still light-headed that night, but no longer feverish.  Wednesday (today) I am still light-headed and feeling fuzzy, still no appetite, but I have depositions and so I have to come in.  About ten minutes before it’s time to leave for depositions across town, our nanny quits – no notice, just up and quits via text.  I ask her to do today, just one last day, or my depositions will be ruined, and she agrees.  The logistics of getting myself in a car across town whilst leaving my own car full of car seats someplace that the nanny can get it and trade keys and all of this is a challenge made even more tricky by the fact that the girl just quit by text message and clearly is not feeling this.  It works out.  She gets the kids home, I get depositions finished, manage a few other things, then come home and order pizza because srsly what a week.  Half a week, even!  The Professor is spending the day riding in his krewe’s Mardi Gras parade in New Orleans.  In other words, he is having a vastly better day than I.

I don’t know what we’re going to do about the nanny, but luckily next week is Mardi Gras holiday, so we have an extra week to figure it out.  I have two jury trials in March, so it must be completed ASAP.

Never mind.  I had the weekend to sustain me, and there are more parades this weekend.  In depo today, the deponent was chatting prior to being sworn in about how he hates Mardi Gras, finds it a waste of money, too decadent and sinful.  He was clearly disapproving.  It’s ok to not like Mardi Gras, I guess, but whenever I hear that sort of talk I just shake my head.  It is sinful indeed!  A time to sin and sin and sin again.

Lent is coming.  A few days til Fat Tuesday, and I will squeeze in all the parading and partying and sinning that a girl with two jury trials in March possibly can do.