This year I wanted to do something different. In past years, I wrangle my children on the side of the parade route and point out Daddy for the minute he's in view for the girls to yell and wave at the FFA float. We arrived early and hauled the camp chairs, winter clothing, snacks, blankets and hand warmers from our parking space down to the parade route and to freeze our little bums off. Two of the years Ryan's parents came down to sit with us, and one year Ryan took off (his FFA kids weren't terribly interested and the twins were just born and well... I may have not exactly been a supportive wife at that point in time; I was just tired.) and the year Elizabeth learned to walk we just didn't go. That girl ran away from me every chance she got and I figured the headline, "Little Girl Maimed/Trampled/Lost During Parade" would be a festive mood-killer. So this year, I thought it would be cool to hang out with Ryan and be in the parade. (I could also cross off the "Be in a parade" entry on my Things To Do Before I Die list.)
About 45 minutes before the parade started, we met up with Ryan at his float.
Then we walked around to see most of the floats before being stuck in the truck for the next 85 minutes.
All piled in the school truck. The high schoolers sat on the "float" in back, and the school Grizzly mascot walked around high-five-ing parade watchers. And one of Ryan's students tied a camp chair to the top of the truck and rode up there with a fake white felt Santa beard and hat. Thankfully, he didn't fall off.