We Do Re-Do, part 1

If you didn't know, our original wedding is not a day I look back on with fond memories. When Zac was 2 years old, I found him in our bedroom ripping up our album and I wasn't even mad. I almost joined him, to be honest. 

On our 29th anniversary last January, I asked Ron if he'd like to do a vow renewal and have a new wedding for our 30th and he shot that down fast and told me he'd take care of planning our 30th anniversary. So suspecting he'd book a cruise or maybe another pole dancing party bus, I put it out of my mind because he's earned my trust on surprise planning and most of the year I've been preoccupied with planning Kearstin and Trevor's wedding.

Our granddaughters were so infatuated with Kearstin and Trevor's first dance, that 2 weeks after their wedding, I planned a "royal ball" in my building. We all dressed up in our fancy wedding clothes and had our own private princess dance. Zac created the playlist and when one of my favorite songs (Love of a lifetime, by Firehouse) came on, I grabbed Ron's hand and we started to dance, which was exactly what everyone knew would happen when that song came on. But then halfway through, that song stopped, and our wedding song (When I look into your eyes, by Firehouse) started. 

Way back when, during the planning of our first wedding, when I dug my heels in on THIS being the song played during our wedding, I was told that someday I'd regret not choosing "something more reverent." Thirty years later, nope. Still don't.

Anyhooo, that song kicked on and I was  completely shocked when Ron dropped to one knee and proposed with a new wedding band set. He didn't even drop to one knee to propose to me the first time around so I was stunned. Then he told me that he rented the building at a local park and our Pastor was already booked for our vow renewal at 1:30pm on Saturday December 10th...my birthday...and I had exactly 6 weeks to plan everything else to create my dream wedding.

Thankfully, our kids were in on the whole thing because his original plan was to surprise me by telling me we're going out to dinner for my birthday, but then we'd show up at our 2nd wedding that I had no say in, with me wearing whatever I happened to be wearing to Longhorn steakhouse that day. Surprise! 

And my glorious children who love me said, "Ohhhh dad, noooo."

So I got down to business. 

First things first. Get a refund on that building in the park. I'm entirely too frugal to spend money on a building when we have our own building and I'd rather that money go toward a kick-a** photographer, because (((all brides listen up)))! If there's ONE thing you DO NOT want to skimp on for your wedding, it's the photographer. Those pictures are the thing that you'll have in your hand to remember your day for the rest of your life. Do your research. 

With the help of my Facebook friends, I found my perfect match with Kandalyn and Tony Green Photography, who I connected with immediately, and as it turned out, also offers Boudoir Photo Shoots and a discount for brides. My first thought was that I'm too old for such photos. But my second thought was, no I'm actually not and I booked my shoot. More on that later.

Next, I changed the time of our wedding from 1:30pm to 5:45pm. Ron was confused. "But 1:30 was the time of our first wedding." Okay, now I'm confused. "What about our first wedding would I want to replicate?" Short answer- absolutely nothing. Also, a December wedding with a giant beautiful lit Christmas tree, candles, white lights everywhere, and Ron and I dressed in black screams evening wedding.

Photo credit: Barbara Courter

Which brings me to my dress. I knew exactly what I wanted and google searched- black formal dress, racer back straps, corset style back, slit leg...and then I stopped typing because I literally had that dress hanging in my closet. It was a dress my mom bought me back in 2003 as a reward for losing 100 pounds and it's timeless. She passed away in 2017 and the thought of wearing that dress in this wedding was just too perfectly wonderful to look any further. More money saved to go for the photographer too. Win!

With the bride and groom wearing black, I wanted our bridesmaids (our daughters) in silver dresses and the Flower Princesses (our granddaughters) in red dresses and princess crowns. Let's just stay here for a minute- black, silver, pops of red, white lights, evening wedding, come onnn! I'm not sure how this country redneck chick ended up planning a formal wedding, but I tapped into my inner Boujie and let 'er roll.

Photo credit: Barbara Courter

I got everything planned and booked for this wedding within one week. Almost like a shotgun wedding, except I'm not pregnant. *knocks on wood* 

The girls ordered dresses of their choice and when they began arriving we noticed that some of them were different shades of gray...wait a minute...did I just accidentally plan a Shades of Gray wedding? Of course I did. *wheels start spinning: guys in leather, the arch draped with chains, handcuff chair sashes, and the wedding theme changes from 'Still The One' to '50 Shades of Great!' Too far? Maybe too far. Sometimes I think God made me for laughs. Or maybe He accidentally added a touch too much spice to my mix. 

Speaking of spice, let's talk Boudoir. Y'all know that's why you're really here. Ladies, listen up. You're not "too fat", you're not "too old", you're not "too" anything. Do it. If not for your husband, do it for yourself. A great photographer will make you look and feel absolutely gorgeous and confident and every woman should feel that way about themselves and you gotta start somewhere. May as well go all in by stripping down and getting some sexy photos.

With only 6 weeks before our wedding and wanting to give Ron my pictures as a wedding gift, I had very little time to prepare for my shoot, if it's even possible to prepare for that kind of shoot. But I knew, for me, a fresh tan was a must to feel my best, but my summer tan had faded so a spray tan was my only option.

I'd never gotten a spray tan before and was terrified I'd have to give my husband pictures of me looking like a giant sexy orange Oompa Loompa. So I reached out to a trusted friend who referred me to a place and I booked an appointment.

I walked in and she took one look at my 'Italian Pale' skin tone and said, "Oh, I'm gonna Venetian Bronze youuu" and we stepped behind the curtain with her tanning gun. I think we might be dating now.

I left with strict instructions for the next 12 hours- Do not get wet. Do not sweat. Do not have sex.

Full disclosure: As a fitness instructor with a hot husband, 2 of those is gonna be a major problem for me. I cancelled my evening classes, but my husband got a second-hand tan. I can only sacrifice so much here.

The following day, I showed up to my shoot freshly bronzed and armed with "sexy clothes" I was instructed to bring- So I pulled out 2 footballs and my husband's old jersey because nothing screams sexy clothes like ripped and blood stained sporting equipment, am I right? Yeah, you know I'm right. 

With my permission, the photographer posted a few of my pictures to a private Boudoir Facebook group. Private, right? What's the worst that could happen? Well. Finding out within minutes of my pictures going up how many women from our community, the school district, and my past and present fitness classes that are part of that private group, if you really wanna know the answer to that. Then trying to avoid eye contact with everyone at the high school football game that Friday for fear that anyone might come up to me and mention sexy pictures they saw, which might ruin my big surprise for him. 

So maybe we both have a natural inclination toward ill-planned surprise ideas. But in my defense, he was gonna ruin my 2nd wedding with his surprise. Mine was just half naked pictures of myself posted on-line. No comparison. 

Now fast forward to the night I showed him the pictures, terrified that he would laugh. He did not laugh. As a matter of fact, he didn't even believe it was me and kept referring to me in 3rd person. 

Like, "Who is she?" 

That's me. 

"Why is she wearing my jersey?" 

Dude. Me.

He said he was afraid it was a trap to see if he was attracted to another woman. 

Not that I wouldn't do that, I just didn't think of it. 

Once he grasped what was happening, his questions changed to "Where were you and who was taking your pictures like that?" Fair line of questioning and I assured him it was the Kandalyn of Kandalyn and Tony Green Photography. Not the Tony.

And then he said I could be a lingerie model. Which obviously, I could not be a lingerie model, but that was just about the best compliment a 51 year old grandma could hear from her husband of 30 years. 

Finally he asked who else has seen these pictures. Funny story...

 

I'll leave you with my husband's gift to me. Probably the closest I'll get to receiving a boudoir picture from him and maybe the closest this blog will get to posting one. My family seems to think I've gotten "enough exposure." (For now.) 

 

Stay tuned for Part II- the wedding of my dreams...including 4 Amish horses, a Wendy's triple cheeseburger, and a dog poop obstacle course. Would you expect anything less from my dream wedding?

Somebody's Nuts

Let's be real. Our family is a little crazy. That's no earth-shattering secret for anyone who's ever read this blog. If we were to take a poll on who holds the record, I suspect it'd come down between Ron and me. We both have a long history, but there are far too many examples to link here. Just keep scrolling and read more posts. This entire blog is documentation of our festival of terrible choices.

Hey, I'm nothing if not honest with myself and we've never claimed to be the adult supervision here. That was Aubrey until she moved out and Kearstin took her place. Then she moved out and left Caymen in charge. 

Which brings us to last Friday night. Caymen was in charge when it all went down. Don't forget that.

It all started in the van on the way home from the high school basketball game. Everything was great. What should have happened is we arrive home, I make a little jar margarita, and we go to bed and live happily ever after. What actually happened was Ron suddenly broke the dead silence of the van with his loudest most annoying karate sound "DEEEEEEEEP" as he simultaneously swung his right arm out and stopped a karate chop right before it connected with my neck. 

He didn't hit me. He just scared the shit out of me. If you didn't know, scaring the shit out of Sassy is my grandson's favorite pastime. He hides behind every door and around every corner and jumps out yelling at me, sometimes with weapons, and the louder I scream, the funnier he thinks it is. It used to be cute when he was little and I could see him waiting for me. But now he's 8, dangerously stealth, and he's completely shot my nerves to oblivion. But he's so dang charming I can't even get mad. 

So now a honking horn, a loud semi passing my side of the van, a bird in the garage...all get the same response from me. I jump and scream. 

Ron knows about my nerves and Ron isn't a charming 8 year old. SO, his "DEEEEP" and karate chop was the tipping point for how the rest of the evening played out. Don't forget who started this, k? 

I couldn't form words after his little stunt. I didn't even scream. My heart just stopped for a split second right before my vision went red with rage. When we got home, I silently climbed out of the van and heard him yell, "What's wrong?"

I know, right? 

So I made my little margarita and climbed into bed seething while he went on and on that he "thought I was Caymen sitting there" and it was "a case of mistaken identity" and when I finally had enough, I stormed out of our room to make some poor choices of my own. 

Two can play at that game.

I met Caymen upstairs for an office party. An office party is when we stay up late and eat snacks while we watch Hell's Kitchen. I walked in and my eyes honed in on the tin of nuts leftover from our New Year's Eve party. The pecans and almonds were gone, but the center column of candied cashews sat untouched, because back in 2007 when I was pregnant with Caymen, I had an allergic reaction to either cashews or hazelnuts. I was never tested, so I've spent the past 16 years avoiding both nuts.

But in my ptsd-pissed-off-margarita state of mind, the chances of the 2007 culprit being the hazelnut seemed to be in my favor. So I popped the tin and ate the cashews. All of the cashews. 

It only took a few minutes to feel the tightening in my chest, which of course I attributed to paranoia because it couldn't possibly be an allergic reaction to the 6 servings of cashews I just ate. My odds were 50/50 and the margarita said I couldn't lose.

SO. I decided the best course of action was to eat something else to counteract my paranoid thoughts.

Three rice Krispy treats later, my throat tightened, and Caymen, who had zero idea that anything was going on because I didn't tell her, saw me bolt from the room and heard me violently vomiting in the bathroom. She ran and got Ron.

He found me in the bathroom naked, vomiting, and shaking, and one of them mentioned calling 911. I can't remember who, but I'm guessing Caymen. I shot that down fast. Some people who work for the squad take my classes and having them walk in to find me laced with tequila and gluttoned with nuts and sweets is not a good fitness instructor look. They said they'd take me to the ER themselves, but that would've required me putting clothes on and the thought of getting dressed was so overwhelming to me that I told them that wasn't an option either. 

For future reference, the person having the nut allergy should never be the one calling the shots.

Speaking of shots, they also debated whether or not to use our 5 year old granddaughter's Epi pen on me. She's allergic to nuts. Go figure. We have an Epi pen for her here, but she's like 40 pounds and I'm like...not 40 pounds, and none of us have ever actually used the Epi pen and the thought of being Ron and Caymen's test dummy while they stabbed me who knows where like a voodoo doll, seemed as overwhelming as the thought of putting clothes on.

I told them I just needed a hot bath to warm me up. I mean, that's where Ron put me the last time I had the nut attack, because it was during an Ohio State Game and he had to do something with me until the game was over. I lived to tell about it and I'm not bitter at all. *cough*

So he lowered me into the bathtub with a trash can and I sat under the screaming hot water vomiting. Then he told me I should lay back so the hot water covered my whole body to warm me up faster.

For future reference, Ron should never be the one calling the shots either.

As soon as I laid back into the water, Kearstin showed up beside the bathtub, reached in and grabbed my hand and told me I'd be okay. 

The only problem with that is, Kearstin lives in Cincinnati and was nowhere near our bathtub. 

Days later, we described all of this to my daughter-in-law Barbara, the medical professional in our family, and she's guessing that's the point I passed out from the hot water. Turns out, the hot bath was just one of the many terrible choices made by everyone that night, including but not limited to: no one calling 911, no one calling her, no one trying the perfectly good Epi pen on the shelf in the kitchen, and no one even thinking to try Benadryl. All of which would've still warranted a visit to the ER, which never did happen.

I just envision Ron carrying me over his shoulder into the ER, naked, wet, shot in the neck with a toddler Epi pen, and every orifice of my body crammed with Benadryl tablets because I was unable to swallow- *drops me on their counter* "I've done all I can do."

But back to my bath hallucinations. Caymen then left me alone in the bathroom with Ron to go call Kearstin to thank her for holding my hand, as you do.

*flash to Kearstin's phone ringing at midnight wondering if she should answer Caymen's call and Trevor telling her to silence her phone because it was probably just Caymen excited for the school dance the next day and nothing bad happens in the middle of the night anyway.*

Trevor. I'm pretty sure everything bad happens in the middle of the night, but anyhoo...

I have no recollection of being removed from the bathtub, but according to Caymen, she returned from unsuccessfully getting ahold of Kearstin to finding me wet and naked on the couch and Ron fully clothed laying spread eagle on the floor beside me.

Apparently he threw his back out. One might guess it was from picking up my dead weight out of our deep bathtub, but no. He sneezed. Don't even get me started on his overly dramatic body rackin' sneeze seizures, but seeing as I inadvertently tried to kill myself because I was mad, let's just say we both have problems controlling ourselves and call us even.

That's when Caymen decided to go to bed. That's right, our only adult supervision left us laying to die in the living room for the police to piece together causes of deaths. Pray for us.

I woke up the following morning fully clothed in our bed and feeling like I'd gotten hit by a truck. Eventually Ron's back had slipped back into place enough for him to get me in my pajamas and into bed and my body finished ejecting every last trace of nut from itself around 3am, although I still don't remember anything after Kearstin and the bathtub.

Any medical professionals reading this and tempted to scold me about everything we did wrong, save it. Your common sense is wasted here.

We're in good hands now. Due to our lengthy history of medical DIY attempts, Barbara said she's going to make us a big binder with labeled tabs to keep on our counter for reference in medical emergencies.

NUT ALLERGY- Seek the help of a medical professional immediately. 

(Do not feed, bathe, carry and/or drop the patient around the house)

DISLOCATED RIB- Seek the help of a medical professional immediately. 

(Do not shake, squeeze, step on, or hang the patient upside down)

EAR PAIN- Seek the help of a medical professional immediately. 

(Do not insert anything)

YEAST INFECTION- Seek the help of a medical professional immediately. 

(Repeat- do not insert...anything...)

GENERAL TOM FOOLERY- Seek the help of a medical professional immediately.

(Before Tom Foolery even begins- do not insert anything.)

I think it's safe to say we've learned from this experience.

1. Not to sound dramatic, but I have a cashew allergy. (Group circle says "Hi Shari. Welcome.") I'm gonna skip doing sick experiments on myself with hazelnuts and assume those are bad too. I'm proactive like that.

2. Ron promises not to try to scare me to death and I promise not to get mad and OD on things that could potentially kill me. The little things you don't think to include in your wedding vows, right?

As for Caymen. She promises to use better judgement in the future. 

Come on, girl. You're in charge here.

You might've noticed I never mentioned our son Zac being in charge.

There are reasons for that.