I don’t go to Mardi Gras . . .

(This post is dedicated to my Former-Stepmother-Turned-Bosom-Buddy Beth who parties like a rock star with her Mardi Gras Krewe every year and is basically the coolest person I know.)

I don’t go to Mardi Gras.

Though probably someday I will.

But I do live in a house filled with beads, where somebody is always yelling maniacally while they run around naked, and/or throwing something, and everything vaguely smells of urine, so I sort of feel like I’m there.

I’ve never gone to Ireland or kissed the Blarney Stone.

Though probably someday I will.

But I do spend my days bending over backwards – to entertain the Little People, who are already very persuasive and need no help in that regard. (Prior blog post: Do the Butt Dance!

I don’t party til midnight on New Year’s Eve.

But I am often up all night (when someone is sick or has a bad dream), and I drink a lot of champagne, so SAME.

I have never been to Spain for the Running of the Bulls.

And I never will. (Even though I hope to make it to Spain someday, I think that animal cruelty is never cool.)

But I can imagine what it would feel like, as most mornings I stumble down the stairs from my bedroom, with two small children and a large dog tripping on my heels every other step, before I’ve had my first cup of coffee. I’m sure it’s equally as dangerous.

I’ve never climbed up Machu Picchu.

Though I have traveled to Peru and will probably someday go back.

But I do live at a high elevation, in a house with a lot of stairs and several temples built to honor the LEGO gods, and I can hike in my own backyard for a pretty amazing view of our peaceful little valley.

There are a lot of things I’ve never done . . . or rather, have yet to do.

But in the meantime, I’ve got plenty of adventures going on, right in my very own, crazy wonderful piece of paradise.

Life with kids (and dogs and chickens and lizards) is basically a party just waiting to happen at any moment.