The one where we accidentally stole a dog

We have a country block that we frequently walk. It mainly consists of cornfields with the occasional house along our route. Throughout the years, we've encountered many farm dogs on our walks. Some bark at us until we're past their property and others come out for visits and belly rubs and occasionally stick with us until the edge of their property and then they stroll back to their house. 

What we've never had happen, is a dog come out to greet us and then refuse to leave us. Until Sunday.

It takes us roughly an hour and a half to walk our block and we had exactly 2 hours before we needed to pick Caymen up for work, so we decided to go for our walk. 

At the halfway point, we passed a house with an old friendly dog that

we know who came out to greet us and he brought a friend. A younger playful dog we'd never met before. (Emoji to protect his anonymity.) So Ron did his dodge and weave game that all dogs love and then we tried to leave. Except this dog decided that he'd come too and no amount of persuasion was convincing him to stay.

Time was ticking, so I finally walked up to the house and knocked but no one was home. So what do we do now? We could maybe see if the door's unlocked and put him inside? Worst case scenario, he trashes their house. Nah. Too risky in this world of cameras. So with cameras in mind, Ron did hand gestures to the dog making it very clear that we're not trying to take your dog, but we've got a daughter to pick up from work, so the real worst case scenario is that your new dog might be coming with us and we're all just gonna have to be ok with that. I mean, we'll bring him back. We don't actually want your dog.

So "Dog" came with us. (We had to call him something and it was short notice.)

About a half mile down the road, we passed a house with goats and Dog ran up and down their fence wreaking absolute havoc on them. I'm yelling "DOG! DOG! NAUGHTY DOG" while Ron's behind me making wheezing noises. I turned around and yelled "What the hell are you doing?" He calmly replied, "I'm trying to whistle. My mouth is dry."

So if these people are home, they're seeing their goats being terrorized by what appears to be our dog, who we apparently named DOG, while my husband stands in the middle of the road panting like he's in labor.

Well. There's a worst case scenario we didn't think of. 

We decided to keep walking and Dog eventually lost interest in the goats and began chasing after us. 

As we approached the next house, I saw the chickens. Roaming freely around their front yard.

You've got to be kidding me. These worst case scenarios are escalating.

We already have a dog and a dead chicken scandal in our past, but that's a story for another day.

Time was seriously ticking and we officially didn't have time for this. We decided I would continue home by myself to get the van and Ron would go back and wait in Dog's yard until I picked him up. At this point, I'd have to jog the rest of the way home in order to pick Caymen up in time. 

That's when I got a text from Caymen. "Good news, I'm getting off early."

No offense Caymen, but that's literally the worst of the cases of scenarios of all of our worst case scenarios to this point.

And then I remembered that Aubrey and Nick live nearby, so I frantically called her and filled her in with a flurry of words about Dog, goats, chickens, and Caymen, to which Nick replied "This could seriously only happen to you guys." Not helpful, Nick. Not.Helpful.

When she told me they were on their way home and only a few minutes away from where we were, I gave her directions to Dog's house and then I went back to walking toward home. 

In the meantime, a lady who noticed Ron and Dog walking down the road stopped her car and asked if he needed help. He briefly explained what was happening and she generously handed him a piece of pizza out of the box she was bringing home for dinner...presumably to help distract the dog into staying in his yard, but I can't imagine a scenario where Ron would ever willingly hand over an entire piece of pizza to a dog. 

Thankfully Aubrey swooped in and saved the day. She picked up her dad, then caught up and dropped him back off with me before going to pick Caymen up from work for us. Ron told me how Dog chased after them as they pulled away. 

Ok. So killing Dog in front of his house would legit be the worst case scenario.

Good thing that didn't happen either. 

My therapist says I "castastrophize." Whatever.

Anyway, we can no longer take that walking route, for obvious reasons. But according to this Facebook post in our neighborhood watch group I saw yesterday, it sounds like Dog is keeping himself pretty busy. 

Probably out looking for the cool guy he split a piece of pizza with in his front yard.

 

The one where Zac brought smelling salts into the restaurant

Let me tell you a common occurrence that happens in our family. We plan a day out on the boat with 3 dogs and an expectation to dock at one of the many restaurants around the lake and grabbing some takeout to eat on the boat. Then evening rolls around and we start frantically searching for a freaking restaurant with a kitchen that's still open while the babies meltdown, the adults get hangry (and maybe a little mean) and one finally runs inside a restaurant to pee and comes back with 3 penis coladas from the bar that was mercifully still serving drinks.

1. Believe it or not that wasn't me. (This time)

2. Also that wasn't a typo up there, if you happened to catch it. It took exactly one time for Scarlet to accidentally call a Pena Colada "penis colada" for our family to start calling it penis colada forever.

We finally gave up and returned to our dock to drive cars to a Mexican Restaurant that was smart enough to stay open till 8pm on Memorial Day weekend, because they know the difference between right and wrong.

Unlike us, who showed up at a restaurant with smelling salts and 3 dogs who ended up drinking my penis colada and trashing our van while we ate.

So here's the breakdown of how such a thing even happened. 

(The salts, not the drunk German Shepherds.)

Zac gets sleepy at work so he bought himself a bag of "The world's strongest smelling salts", which seemed the better solution over say, going to bed earlier at night or something. He told Ron about the smelling salts he had in his car and Ron told him to go get them.

I didn't hear any of this conversation because Barbara, Aubrey, and I were huddled over my cell phone listening to Kearstin fill us in on how she spent her weekend. That's important to note because I never would've allowed the smelling salts to enter the scene or at the very least would've put up an argument on behalf of common sense.

But instead, I heard a bunch of gasping and laughing, so I turned and came face to face with an open container of the strongest smelling salts known to man and for one split second saw Jesus before the taste of cat piss hit the back of my throat and I bolted from the table just in time to violently vomit in the bathroom. The sound everyone hopes to hear while they're eating in a restaurant, I'm sure.

I returned to our table too livid to even speak. 

If the waiter didn't hate us yet, after dinner Zac took Scarlet to the bathroom and sealed the deal. 

You see, the door to the women's bathroom swings open super easy and that's the hallway leading to the kitchen. Zac was waiting for her out in the hall, noticed our waiter coming from the kitchen and made eye contact with him right before Scarlet burst out of the bathroom and nailed our waiter straight in the face with the door. Zac heard the smack and him yell "Jesus Christ!"

That makes 2 Jesus sightings.

Hold on buddy, we got smelling salts.

'The one where...' Wednesdays

You might have noticed I've taken a bit of a hiatus from writing. Never mind, you probably haven't noticed. Let me change that. I notice I've taken a hiatus from writing and I don't like it.

Long story short: I bought a Younique makeup starter kit in January with the intention of using Facebook Lives to compare it with drugstore makeup to prove that drugstore makeup is just as good, ended up discovering that some of the drugstore stuff I've always used wasn't even close to as good, accidentally became a Younique "Affiliate" (a wearer of their products, not to be confused with an actual seller of their products), started using my Facebook Lives to promote local women in business, began a daily regimen of collagen shots, and now my nails are so freakin' long I can barely type and it's taken me 10 minutes to type these 2 paragraphs because every time I try to type the letter O, I hit the number 9, and I haven't scheduled my manicurist to trim these monsters yet. 

Yes, that is the short version for those of you whose heads are spinning.

But seriously, I'm having fun but also miss the therapy of writing. It's not for lack of material, lest you think my family started acting all normal or anything. Crazy things happen, I have every intention of blogging it, then time gets away, then more crazy hits, and suddenly I think if I blogged all that, people are gonna get super annoyed with a 50,000 word entry and at what point is that considered a book? I tend to have long blog entries anyway, and someone once asked in a comment if I get paid per word. Let me clear something up for everyone. On this particular platform, I don't get paid anything, so every snarky descriptive word I use is like my complimentary gift to you. You're welcome.

Anyhoo. A few nights ago, I had an idea that might solve my writing rut dilemma. Beginning next week, I won't have any of my grand babies here on Tuesdays and I'm going to start devoting that day to writing, like the way it was when writing was my actual job. I need to refocus my discipline in this area and having a day set aside for it should help hold me accountable. Part of that day's writing will be a short story blog entry to post the following day. Those entries won't be an entire day's worth of crazy, but rather just one piece of crazy at a time. That should make for an easy read for you, as well as a less overwhelming writing project for me. 

You know how the Friends episodes were all titled "The one where...(fill in the blank)?" That's what I've decided to try here and see how it goes. 

So today is the official kick-off to 'The one where...' Wednesdays.

I'm excited, first and foremost because the entire purpose of this blog was to document our crazy family for our crazy family. It's so that our kids, grandkids, and great grandkids have something to look back on and remember, learn from, and laugh about someday. I don't want them to get to 2023 and be like, "So, what...the end? Did she keel over? Death by collagen shots?" 

I never imagined this blog would attract the following it has over the years and I really do appreciate each and every one of you who takes the time to read it, comment your support, and especially all the times I hear "I needed this laugh today." Because that is a secondary purpose of this blog. 

I want to make you laugh. I want to lighten your day. I want to give you a few minutes of distraction from something you might be going through. I want to transparently share the stuff that goes on around here- the good, the bad, the hard, the crazy, and show you how it can all be redeemed and how most of it can (and should) be laughed about if you put the 'write' twist on it. 

That's what I'm here for.

So check back next week to read: The one where...Zac brought smelling salts into a Mexican Restaurant.

Yeah. You read that right. 

We Do Re-Do, part 2

I have a history of doing things twice to make up for the way the first one went down. My baptism for example. I was 10 the first time and I remember it very clearly. My parents, older sister, and I were baptized together on a Sunday evening and afterward, the congregation verbally voted their approval for us to be members of their church. In my 10 year old mind, that was not the day I publicly proclaimed my decision to follow Jesus. It was my initiation into the Baptist Church. I'm not saying that the baptism "didn't count" as I know I'd given my life to Christ when I was 10. But the feelings that surrounded the memory, weren't...fond, ya know? So in 2012, at the age of 40, I was re-baptized on my own terms, in front of Ron, our children, and about 20 friends before a co-ed volleyball game, and my baptism experience was forever changed.

So at the age of 50, to be given the gift of re-experiencing our wedding on our own terms, was not something we approached lightly and the big 3 wedding decisions needed to be agreed upon: What we'd eat, who we'd invite, and what we'd wear. 

FOOD.

Every year on my birthday we have Long John Silvers with our kids because it's been my favorite birthday tradition for as long as I can remember and our new wedding was happening on my birthday. But Long John Silvers for a full on reception meal wasn't nearly as realistic or convenient as say, Fazolis. Hey. I'm not fancy, but I am Italian and I don't know anyone who doesn't like Fazolis breadsticks and Ron eventually agreed.

GUESTS.

My building has space for 30 people. Our family of 13 and our Pastor and his wife made up half, which left 15 seats available. (My math skills are next level right now.) 

Who we invited had a very simple criteria. Loyalty and Trust. 

As we made up our guest list, we'd ask these 2 questions: 

1. If we got in a huge fight and one of us went to talk to them about it, would they take sides and fuel the fire with a bash session against the other person or would they talk us off the ledge and help us restore our marriage?

2. Would they turn around and tell other people about what happened behind our backs?

That simplified our guest list by a lot.

I challenge you to ask yourself those questions and evaluate who you have in your circle of loyalty and trust. Some might call that standard "Italian Crap." Hey. My circle might be small, but it is tight. 

WARDROBE.

For all the nonsense that goes on in our marriage, we're lovers not fighters. But give us 6 weeks to plan our "dream wedding" and it's gonna go down, because somebody's gonna demand to wear a silver shirt instead of black. What's next Groomszilla, a cashew cake so I'll be dead in the tub by morning?

After countless arguments, it became obvious that this was the hill he was willing to die on and I graciously conceded my vision of us both dressed in black. FINE! RUIN OUR 2ND WEDDING THEN!

With the details settled, the days leading up to our wedding were filled with excitement...and 2am google searches consisting of scary words like "DIY Body Shimmer" and "How much tequila to add with a drink already containing tequila?" What could go wrong?

Ron went first thing that morning to pick up the cake. A phobia he and I both share is fear of cake shortage. And when we pulled the 2-tier cake out of the box, I gasped and we both went silent. W.T.H is that? Two dozen Walmart cupcakes to the rescue. Crisis averted. Don't judge us, we had big honeymoon plans for the leftover cake. 

Next up, the boys took Ron axe throwing and I headed to the salon to get my hair blown out, dressed in my pajamas and pink The MOB slippers from Kearstin's wedding, which just happened to coincide with my newly adopted "Italian Crap" life motto.

When I was waiting to cross over an intersection, I saw horses running everywhere, being chased by a small group of Amish boys. By the time I reached them, they'd gotten the horses back into their field, but they couldn't get the gate lifted off the ground to latch. I'm not sure what surprised them more- my freshly tanned 'Venetian Bronzed' skin, my pajamas, my slippers, or when I jumped out and helped them hoist up the other side of the gate so they could get it latched, but I climbed back into my depraved mini van and watched them in my rearview mirror as they stood staring and probably debating whether or not to tell their parents. Super Hero or Local Harlot...which way we spinnin' this, kids?

I arrived home from the salon to find the best lunch any bride could ever want before her wedding...a Wendy's triple. I allow myself one per year and that one met my 2022 quota, because I hadn't eaten a Wendy's cheeseburger since October 2021 when I almost choked to death while my husband and son ignored all of my sudden dangerous silence. 

I'm getting nothing from Wendy's for this endorsement even though I should.

Let's talk about Ron again. 

Besides wardrobe tantrums, he has 2 toxic traits:

1. He likes to announce to the bride things that are going wrong on her wedding day. He did it to Kearstin and he tried to do it to me, but all I heard was my daughter-in-law Barbara yell- "SHE DOES NOT NEED TO KNOW THAT!!" I still don't know what he was trying to tell me. All I know is that I need a recording of her yelling that so that every time he tries to ruin my mood with dramatic news I'll just press play.

2. In the hours leading up to huge events being hosted at our house, he chooses the most random things to do that don't need done. An hour before the photographer was due to arrive, I looked outside to see him scooping dog poop out of the grass in the back yard. It's the back yard, it's 36 degrees, and we're having an indoor wedding...what the hellllll are you doing?!? 

So when the photographer arrived and suggested we do outdoor pictures and our kids and grandkids were hop skipping through the dog poop land mine and I'm the one who's foot squished through a steaming pile of crap, I can't really complain about that now can I?

He finally got dressed, strolled outside late for pictures, looked around at all of us and said, "Should I wear my black shirt?"

Ohhhh noooo, my friend. Tantrums were thrown, decisions were made, and now you're gonna smile pretty in your silver shirt.

Our wedding was everything we dreamed it would be. Our son and grandson walked me down the aisle and surrounded by our children, grandchildren, and closest most trusted circle of friends, we recommitted our lives to each other. As the song The Time Of My Life began playing, we kissed, and not one person "tsk tsk'd" and predicted that someday we'll regret using a song from Dirty Dancing because those are our non-judgmental people and they know that we won't. 

We kicked off the reception by toasting with my signature drink, the Shargarita...strawberry flavored Jose Cuervo that already had tequila before I added a lot more tequila. Then, unlike the first wedding when we smashed cake into each other's faces, we gently fed each other cake in honor of the sweet covenant love we vow to model for the next 30 years.

 

We did it. We re-wrote a piece of our history and created a brand new memory.

And it was perfection...minus that silver shirt, obvi.

Our son Zac used our wedding pictures to create a video of our special day and he put it to the song we walked down the aisle to. (For Life, by Christian & Chloe) Click here if you'd like to see it. 

Thank you to everyone who helped make this one of the best days of our life.

Is there any part of your story you'd like to re-write? Take my advice: DO.IT.

Photos by Kandalyn and Tony Green Photography

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.

The Sweetest Day

 As the saying goes; Man plans, God laughs- and I'm so grateful because sometimes the most unexpected things turn into life's sweetest gifts.

Our 3rd child Kearstin has been a prime example of that from the very beginning. She was a surprise pregnancy during a hectic time in our life, when financially another baby wasn't what we planned, but God knew she was exactly what we needed. 

November, 1998- In the midst of chaos and a turmoil of emotions, we found out we were pregnant. It was the sweetest day.

It's impossible to fully describe, but at just under 32 weeks of my pregnancy, I felt deep in my soul that something wasn't right. For that entire weekend I told anyone who would listen that something wasn't right and on Monday morning I called the doctor and the receptionist was hesitant to move my appointment up a day. "You can feel her moving, but you can't wait one more day? I'm sure she's fine."

"NO I canNOT wait because she's NOT fine because SOMETHING isn't RIGHT!" 

They finally agreed to bump my appt up from Wednesday to Tuesday, even though I could tell they thought I sounded like a lunatic. 

The following day, when the ultrasound showed her tiny body completely still except a slowly beating heart, I was taken for an emergency c-section and they prepared us for the worst. When they pulled her out, she was snow white and not moving and the room was completely silent. They rushed her out of my sight and I lay there trying to grasp the horrible silence until it was broken by her tiny cries followed by the doctor who was sewing me closed saying, "My God. That's a miracle."

May 25th, 1999- In the midst of chaos and a turmoil of emotions, our miracle arrived and changed my world forever. It was the sweetest day.

Fast forward to July 15th, 2021- In the Dominican Republic, during pandemic chaos and a turmoil of emotions, my tiny miracle, who'd grown into a beautiful princess, got engaged to her high school sweetheart, Trevor. It was the sweetest day.

From the very beginning, she and I have had an inexplicable borderline scary connection and it's only gotten stronger with each passing year. It's almost like that twin telepathy thing except I birthed her and we're not telepathic, so probably not the same at all. But the planning of her non-traditional rustic glam wedding brought us even closer.

The day we went dress shopping, she chose for herself a princess pink wedding dress and a burgundy dress to match the bridesmaids for me.

She asked me to join her dad walking her down the aisle to give her away and included me with the girls for her Bachelorette weekend in a cabin...I mentioned non-traditional, right?

Speaking of non-traditional...while she and Trevor were excitedly choreographing their beautiful first dance together, she and I were secretly choreographing the father/daughter dance...aka; 38 seconds of slow dancing with her dad to Bob Carlisle's Butterfly Kisses turned into 3 and a half minutes of our entire family crashing the dance floor to Missy Elliott's We Run This, because what else would you expect from us?

The year of planning flew by in a blur.

The morning of the big day, her only rule was clear: "If anything goes wrong today, I don't want to be told about any of it."

Remember that time back in 2014 when I described how smoothly Aubrey's wedding went? 

Well. Grab a margarita, cuz in true Kearstin's-entire-life-history fashion- we planned, God laughed, and here's how her wedding went down.

If the wind blowing the isle runner away during setup, not having enough chair covers for the ceremony, and the bride's dad breaking her only rule by calling her to let her know about both of those issues was the biggest thing that went wrong, I wouldn't need the margarita to write this. 

Oh, you thought I was telling you to grab a margarita? You're adorable.

Here comes the good stuff. Everything was fine until the pictures started, but have professional pictures ever gone smoothly for our family? Short answer- no. They always seem to end with Ron yelling at everyone to stop vomiting and threatening never to do family pictures again.

Refer back to Family Photo Day and A (Birth) Day In The Life  to refresh your memory and remind yourself why you read this blog to feel better about yourself. You're welcome. 

Photo by Graceful Beginnings

We were all dressed in our cute matching "get ready for the wedding jammies" when the pictures started, and as if on cue, Flower Girl #3 (Mahayla) vomited directly over the shoulder of Flower Girl #2 (Scarlet), sending Scarlet into hysterics and triggering everything you'd expect from 2 vomit covered 5 year olds running rampant amongst the bridal party. Screaming and gagging, to be specific.

By the looks on the photographer's faces, I'd say this was a first for them and when the videographer asked "should I keep rolling?" it was too much for me. 

Kearstin knowingly looked over at me and began loud-whisper-ordering "DO.NOT.PEE." 

She gets that from her dad. Like they think they can just order people to stop their bodily functions. 

Show of hands. How many people can say their mom peed her pants and wore no underwear throughout their entire wedding day? Just Kearstin? Weird.

Because, no. I didn't pack an extra pair of underwear to bring to the wedding. I'm not a toddler. And my wet undies (read favorite black thong) ended up in an empty USPS package with the hopes I wouldn't accidentally mail them off anywhere.

If you think that's where the story ends, your margarita isn't big enough.

Because then it was time to put me in my dress...meaning zip and lace up the corset back and criss cross and hook my spaghetti straps...and Kearstin was the only one who knew how to do it.

Did you catch that part about CRISS.CROSS.THE.STRAPS? That's important for a low cut dress requiring no bra. The criss cross pulls it tighter, providing more coverage and support.

For those keeping score of the Mother Of The Bride's attire at this wedding:

Underwear- 0

Bra- 0

People surprised by any of that- 0

Quick life lesson for the future: Never put the bride in charge of her mom's cleavage on her wedding day.

My dress felt loose and very...er, unsupportive. She tied me in again. Still the same. When I complained it was still loose, she said "I don't know! That's just the way it is!" 

I'm gonna remember that reply the next time she asks me why I pee my pants when I laugh.

When the bride, the bridesmaids, the ring bearer, and the 3 flower girls, who had moved past the vomiting crisis surprisingly fast, loaded into the mini-van driven by Zac, we realized Ron and I had nowhere to sit. So Zac popped open the trunk. And that's where we rode, with our feet hanging out the back, and the trunk door threatening to bounce off our heads for the 2 mile drive down the gravel road. 

By the time we arrived at the ceremony, we were covered in dirt and dust and after bouncing around in my dress the whole ride, it occurred to me that maybe my straps weren't criss crossed as Ron and I pounded each other off beside the van. 

Pounded the dirt off. Stop drinking and get yer heads outta the gutter.

One of the bridesmaids quickly fixed my straps and we walked our beaming princess toward her teary eyed prince where the minister asked the question- "Who gives this woman to marry this man?"

When he asked that question at rehearsal the night before, Ron panicked and answered, "That would be I." Hey Yoda, I'm standing here too and since when do you speak in Star Wars? 

We'd been practicing "Her mother and I" so I whispered it to him one last time and I'm happy to say he nailed it for his big moment in the spotlight.

Photo By Graceful Beginnings

The lakeside ceremony was beautiful and I think we were all crying when Trevor emotionally read the vows he'd written and then she read hers to him. 

I glanced over to see Scarlet laying across Mayhayla's lap who'd just vomited all over her an hour before and every horrible scenario flashed through my mind of the hell that would break loose with just one unfortunate heave, but I'm happy to report I don't have to write that. 

Collective sigh of relief because I would've been officially out of clothes to wear, we had a family dance coming, and the show must go on.

Photo by Graceful Beginnings

It was during pictures after the ceremony when I happened to glance down at the front of my husband's pants and gasped. It seems the Father of the Bride walked his daughter down the aisle with his man parts outlined in dirt from our ride down in the trunk of the van. (Zoom in if you dare- for the sake of this blog, I'm thrilled the photographer didn't edit that out, as are you I'm sure.)

It was almost our turn for pictures so I quickly tried to rub him off which, um...stimulated it's own set of problems and begs the question, which is worse in family wedding pictures? 

Cast your vote here.

The reception had a couple of complete disasters about it, but they were out of our family's control and as much as I'd love to spill the steaming puddle of tea so we can all shake our heads in disbelief together, I won't.

Photo by Graceful Beginnings

The only thing that matters is that on October 15th, 2022- In the midst of chaos and a turmoil of emotions...some projectile vomit, a little urine, excess cleavage, and one set of dusty balls- Kearstin married Trevor, the love of her life. And Sweetest Day became THE sweetest day.

Dear Trevor,

Welcome to our crazy family. After 7 years of dating, we probably come as no surprise to you anymore. Thank you for sticking around anyway. I cannot guarantee that we'll ever be "normal" or "traditional." As a matter of fact, I can guarantee you the exact opposite. But what I can promise you is that you've officially joined a tight family circle built on trust, loyalty, unconditional love, respect, and enough laughter to last you a lifetime. We're grateful that God led Kearstin to her person. And we happily welcome you into our tribe.  (Credit for our family slide show goes to Zac)

Photo by Graceful Beginnings

And now y'all know why Ron's hiding in the back. M'hm.