Hot Wings and Crunchy Leaves

It's hard to blog over the noise of two grown men consuming 1 million chicken wings. I smell the heat. They sound delicious, and they are giggling like a group of tween girls at a slumber party. Mark has a display of demeated bones on a paper towel before him. It's hideous. He's thrilled with himself. After all, he's in training. Two marathons in two weeks, beginning this Saturday in Baton Rogue. But more on that another time.

Our buds are heading back home tomorrow. We will miss them terribly. Especially the kids. Built-in, 24/7 buds, it doesn't get any better than that. For all of us.

Now they're breaking into the ice cream, which means I need to wrap this up.

Much of the weekend was spent frolicking in the leaves.


Surveying the giant pile being prepared for jumping.

Thomas the train and Stella crashed into the leaves.

Getting ready to crash Thomas and herself into the leaves.

That's some high-stepping.

Pure elation.