'Merica

Happy Freedom Day, 'Merica!!!

The Houghs.  Ready to celebrate freedom.

The day after we flew in from Florida, we had to turn an abrupt about-face and throw on our festivity pants for the Fourth of July.  Not ideal after a cross-country vacation, mind you, but we are Americans after all, and that's what you do on Independence Day.  You wear festive clothes, drink some beer, and blow some shit up.

We spent the better part of our July 4th morning unpacking our suitcases, doing laundry, picking up Watson from my folks' house in Clare, and otherwise settling back into normalcy.  This brief respite was short-lived, as our circle of friends were having a taco party over at Mitch and Kelli's house in the afternoon.  Everybody brought a few items to throw in on, and we all gorged ourselves past the tipping point on awesome Mexican food.  I will not envy everyone's toilets tomorrow morning.

Anyway, after hanging out over there for a few hours, stuffing our faces and having some drinks, we caravanned over to the Midland Country Club Golf Course to watch the city's annual firework show.  Doing it this way was by far a better way of doing than we had previously done in 2016, where we sat on a grassy hillside next to the courthouse downtown for HOURS in order to nab a decent seat.

All in all, a pretty chill Fourth, which we enjoyed thoroughly after our week of craziness in the tropics.

Enjoy.

Breaking in one of my new koozies from Universal Studios:  Duff Man.

Even my domestic brand was feeling all patriotic today.  I was totally down with this.

Brad prepares to blow a bunch of shit up to celebrate our nation's independence. . .

I helped him light off a few of these mortars in the street, and in the process suffered some pretty bad burns on my hand.  Brad is a cigar salesman, and gave me a fancy tube-shaped cigar lighter to use to ignite the mortars.  Unfortunately for Yours Truly, I had never used one of these fancy-pants lighters before, and couldn't tell which side was the side the fire came out of, so when I flipped the switch a high blue flame scorched my palm and fingers.  Hurt like a son of a bitch.

FOR FREEDOM

An attempt at getting a picture of all our kids together in a picture, dolled up in all of their Fourth of July threads. . .

. . . aaaaand this is more like it.

The Shepherds make a brief appearance (they had been entertaining relatives all afternoon, around the corner from Mitch's house.)  We'd end up seeing the fireworks with them later.

Abby and Jackson.  Partners in crime.

We all parked along St. Andrews and walked onto the Country Club golf course, getting our plebeian stink all over those snooty rich folks' greens.  There was a lot of traffic heading into this area - though, surprisingly, not on the golf course itself, which was nice - and in the process we lost the Larsons and Bardens.  So it was just the Houghs, Johnsons, Fischers, Shepherds, and Bosses together for the firework show.

 Everything's a competition with these fourth graders. . .

Alayna will have no part in a footrace, just like her old man.  We met up with the other four families on a hill overlooking the course, with a great view of the firework show.  I took no pictures or videos this year, just as in the previous few years - I'm sure if you were really desperate you could find a couple snazzy Youtube videos of fireworks, but I've reached that age where I'd much rather just appreciate what's in front of me.  Happy Fourth, 'Merica.

- Brian

St. Patrick's Day (Observed)

Top 'o the Mornin', America!

'Tis the greatest time of the year, lasses and laddies, and the Houghs once again unfurled their Irish battle pants and got to work doing the holiday justice.

Behold a mighty barrage of St. Patrick's Day (observed) chaos.

Slainté mhaith!

Green pancakes.  A Hough family breakfast staple.

Abby busts out the shamrock-shaped cookie cutters. . .

St. Patrick's Day Pancakes.

This year I decided to forego my usual bottle of Jameson and picked up a bottle of Feckin instead.  My brother, Chris, as well as some work associates highly recommended it.  Turns out they were right to do so.

Breakfast of Champions.

En route to Melbourne, FL once again.  We were almost going to skip it this year - after all, it's nearly an hour and a half drive each way, and last year was horribly crowded - but the girls really wanted to see a parade.  Plus, with kilted pipe n' drum corps, Irish dancers, corned beef and cabbage, a giant inflatable leprechaun, and all the beer you can drink, it was an easy sell on their part.

Watching some kids crap on the DVD player. . . probably Disney Fairies' Secret of the Wings.  Abby has a freak-out if that isn't playing when she walks into a room.

We got to Melbourne early enough this year to nab front row seats for the parade.  I chose a spot that would give me a clear shot as the parade approached our position, allowing me to try out our flashy new camera.

Went with the wagon instead of the stroller this year - the kids seem to like it more, and it doubles as chairs in a pinch.  Of course, maneuvering the colossal thing through packs of sweaty drunks is a royal pain in the ass. . .

I don't know why she's doing this.  It wasn't cold.

Hough gals.

(They don't pose as well for me. . .)

Best. Pizzeria Sign.  Ever.

Patiently awaiting the start of the parade. . .

St. Patrick kicks it off. . .

"Santa's green!"  My kids are dumb.  Then again, I heard the idiots behind us refer to the guy as the Pope. . .

And they didn't even have to lift their shirts for these. . .

March of the clansmen

Alayna's always been skittish with loud noises. . . I guess she won't be playing in bands later.

It isn't St. Pat's unless you see a few of these walking about. . .

I wish cops still drove around in these.

(I don't think this is operational)

Avast!  Bead-wielding, Irish pirates!

Abby's mid-parade snack break.

Unlike her sugar-addict sister, the Cannonball likes to stash hers away for later. . .

The Fez Brigade

Alayna high-fives some guy in a dog firefighter costume, while Abby flees in terror.

I was the only one perplexed by this.  The Vikings plagues Ireland for years, sacking and plundering the coastlines for centuries following the fall of Rome.  Why the good people of Melbourne decided it was 'legit' to include a Viking war galley in an Irish parade is beyond me. . .

If you look past the weird-looking thing on the back of this lady's neck, you'll note the banner reading 'New Jersey Kazoo Band.'  I guess Virgil Q has some competition on Their hands. . .

Politely requesting more beads (as if they needed them. . .)

Ah, the ol' yellow Snake Flag. . . misconstrued for centuries.

This guy seems like the sorta guy you'd ask to babysit your kids, am I right?

Like a beacon of hope after nearly an hour of parade-watching. . .

Kris begins to ford her way through the crowds, following the end of the parade.

Kris wanted to hit up the kids craft section beforehand venturing over to the 'beverage section,' as I like to call it.  I grudgingly fell into line. . .

Coloring leprechauns.

Kegs of Daddy's Coffee.

"That's a really big coffee."

Abby grows bored. . .

. . .also a big fan of corned beef and cabbage.

Alayna was captivated by the Irish girls 'jigging' (whatever the hell that dance is called)  up on stage.

I think this guy thought I was taking a picture of him.  He could've at least smiled.

Your standard in-front-of-the-large-leprechaun picture.

So I could've bought three 22oz beers at $6 apiece, OR a $11 32 oz beer in a souvenir mug with a $8 refill.  Once you calculate the usual $1 per drink tip, I more or less got a free cup.  I'm a smart drinker, folks.  Tell your friends.

I don't remember where she got the sucker from, but she was NOT letting it go.

I'm pretty sure Abby had downed the beverage sitting at her feet. . .

Hot three-way.

Heading for the restrooms. . . arguably the grandest port-o-john I've ever seen.

Yes.  This seriously happened.

The great center of festivities. . . usually so crowded it takes a half-hour to pass through it.  We didn't even go inside this year.

Another tradition.  This one extremely unhealthy.

The Cannonball tries her first Shamrock Shake.  Verdict:  Big fan.

- Brian