I knew it would be a rough weekend. I was stressed about it. My husband, when testing the water before asking me to take the truck to the muffler shop, got an earful about what a full weekend was coming up and how I knew I would be exhausted by the end.
But I'm in the running for "Bad Mother of the Year Award." I have a class that conflicts with Xavier's track meets. I haven't made any of the home meets, even though I've been within a stone's throw from his competitions.
Junior Lilac Parade was for him. It was his last year marching with the middle school. And he marched, big time, sousaphone over the shoulder the whole way.
Of course, next year, we could be back to watch my neice, Victoria.
This is a tradition that we've held for a number of years, dating back to the 80's. There have been a few years that we've skipped it, when no one has found a place in the parade, but all in all, it's something to look forward to. My family has pictures of my husband and I, both of us with smooth, teenage skin and strange hairdos sitting out front of Pioneer Pies, waiting for someone to come by that we recognized.
Pioneer Pies is now a sushi place, but we're back.
And it's still a place to watch people, really weird people, and visit with family. Afterward, we grab a bite to eat and enjoy each others' company.
This is a small sampling of the weird people at the parade.
Tim and Querida went for coffee. I fussed at them, but they thought they had enough time. I thought Xavier would be along at number 44 in the parade route. I texted them when we were about at 16, telling them that we were at 20 already.
Xavier was not number 44, he was much sooner than that. Tim and Querida made it back just in time.
Oh, I borrowed a nice camera from my photojournalism teacher, but the batteries died just as the parade almost began. I had to borrow Q's camera.
(End of Part I.)
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