Thoughts on a Root Canal

It doesn't hurt while you are getting a root canal. Still. I would not suggest requesting one. That's all I'll say about that. You're welcome.

Recovery from a root canal, however? Ho.ly. #@$%! I slept 20 of the first 30 hours I was home. I looked like someone punched me in the upper lip... or like I had a terrible allergic reaction to something... or like I got some horribly ill-advised Melanie Griffith/Lisa Rinna lip procedure. And, it hurt to smile. And, talk. It just hurt. And, I kept having PTSD from the feeling of the procedure. But, now I'm saying too much. Just don't volunteer for a root canal. Promise?

On a positive note: My husband? The greatest. He was Dancing-Daddy-Monkey Extraordinaire! He entertained the kids the entire weekend - except for the few hours my in-laws took over so he could take me out for a quiet dinner. I married into the BEST. FAMILY. EVER. Let's have a competition! ... I win!

And, now. I give you... A few things you never want to hear from your Endodontist:

• [As another doctor passes in the hall] "You have got to come in here and see this case I'm working on!" [You never want to be that case.]


• Doctor: "This is like working in concrete."
  Me: "Well, huwee up. It fees gwoss!"
  Doctor: "Don't worry. It's not exactly making me hungry either."


• "I never prescribe pain meds. But, I'm going to prescribe some Hydrocodone for you."


• "We're gonna hope that heals up just fine and we don't have to go back and do surgery." [Yep. That's exactly what we're going to hope for.]

And, here's something you do want to hear when he's looking at an x-ray of his work after the procedure: "Oooh! That's so pretty!" [This man and I have very differing opinions of "pretty."]



On a another note: Lulu's custom-made splint? Lost. Already. So, I get to see about buying another one of those today. I'm really excited about that.

OCD, Crafting and Back-to-School

So. After twelve years of marriage, this is how well Shawn knows me.

When I call when he is 6 hours into a 7 1/2 hour drive to say I'll need to be making a back-to-school treat after he gets home that night, he says, "Of course you will." He doesn't even try to confuse me with logic because he knows a confused, obsessive me is way worse than simply an obsessive me. He doesn't remind me that I'm calling at 9:00pm and he won't be home until 10:30pm. Oh no. Indeed, he himself stops at Walmart on his way into town to buy the supplies I don't have.*

But, here's the story. I was asked to be HOMEROOM MOM yesterday at Meet the Teacher Day. That's right. I put it in all caps. I take these things very seriously. I'm thinking of getting a vest embroidered. Or maybe a visor. Or lapel pin. A lapel pin would be classy.

Anyhoo. I have a cousin-in-law. She's like Martha Stewart. Her blog makes me feel inadequate. I usually read it through my fingers while I hold my hands over my inadequate eyes.

But, last year she sent her son to his first day of school with these:

How freakin' cute is that?!

And here are her instructions:

To make your own:

3 1/2 " x 4 1/2 " yellow cardstock

pinking shears

3 1/2" x 1/2" pink cardstock

1" circles pink cardstock

3 1/2" x 3/8" aluminum foil

Rolos

Hershey kisses

adhesive

So. As I sat last night, waiting for Shawn to come home and pondering my newly appointed position (That's right. I said "appointed position." Like the president of the United States himself chose me for this - not like the teacher asked me as I headed out the classroom door), I decided I should make these for my class.** 

It all seemed so very logical. And, simple. *insert delirious laughter*

Except. Walmart doesn't carry Rolos in a package. So, Shawn found these:

Don't tell me he wasn't a little bit into this. He had a "vision."

Except. I didn't have cardstock. I had colored paper. That's right. The package just said "paper."

Except. I don't have pinking shears. So we just had to bunch our "paper" up around the Hershey's kiss.

Except. I don't even know what real crafting people mean when they say "adhesive." I used hot glue, double-sided tape and Elmer's. I'm sure that's probably exactly what they mean.

And, only at this very moment, while writing this very post, did I even see that my CIL's instructions called for aluminum foil. Huh. That would have been a really good idea. Seriously, y'all. I should quit all other endeavors and take up this "crafting" thing full-time.

So. Back to the story.

At 12:45am while we held individual paper pleats around Hersey's kisses and waited for the Elmer's Glue to set (FYI, you can.not. use hot glue on a Hershey's kiss. Learned that the hard way), we may have looked at each other like we had made a terrible mistake. Well, Shawn may have been looking at me like that the entire time... I may have just finally agreed with him.

Then.

I had a sleep-deprived inspiration. Sister's hair rubber bands.

We slopped some Elmer's glue around the kisses, pinched down the paper with a rubber band and went. to. bed.

But, this morning. After I took the rubber bands off, we were left with these. I'll never really understand how. Maybe it was a back-to-school treat miracle. 

I didn't make that cute monkey bag. It was a party favor
bag we were given. But, if you've got some google eyes
on hand, you can go ahead and whip yourself up one.
I'm sure it would just take some "adhesive."

But, you know what? The smile I got from Spence this morning when I showed him. Was worth it all. (And, I even refrained from shrieking at him that he was going to "mess them all up" when he picked one up and pretended to use it like a pencil. I know. I'm all rational like that.)

P.S. Don't think Mommy Guilt doesn't make me know I have to make these for Elizabeth's class, too. Luckily, she doesn't start Pre-K til next Monday.

I need a nap.

ACTUAL INSTRUCTIONS
(although I can't see why you would dare try this at home)

• tube of M&M minis with red tops (although orange will work in a pinch) - slash plastic wrap around  the lid "hinge" so the plastic and your paper will lay flat
• Hershey's kisses with almonds ("because they're brown like a pencil" - Shawn's words, not mine. Seriously. Tell me he wasn't into this.)
• 4 1/2" x 5 1/4" yellow paper (although, I think I would make it longer next time maybe 5 1/2") with "Happy 1st Day of SCHOOL" written along the long way
• 4 1/2" x 1/2" silver or gray paper
• double-sided tape
• hot glue
• Elmer's glue

Hot glue the kiss to the bottom of the M&M tube. Wrap the yellow paper and secure with the double-sided tape, leaving about 1/4" overhang on the kiss end of the tube. Wrap the silver at the other end of the yellow paper and secure with the double-sided tape. Apply Elmer's glue inside the overhanging portion of the yellow paper and pinch around the kiss. Secure with a small hair elastic, if available. Allow to dry. Remove elastic.

*It probably helps my case that Shawn still tells stories about his mom being Homeroom Mom and president of the PTA. (FYI - I will never be president of the Parent Board. I know. I know. Never say never. [Never.])

**I've never been a HOMEROOM MOM, can you tell? I know I'm being pretty cool about it, so you probably couldn't tell...

Oops.

Me: "Remember when [blah, blah, blah, blah]?"

Shawn: "No. I really don't remember that. Like, I don't even have the slightest recollection of that.

Me: "Really?"

Shawn: "Are you sure that wasn't one of your other boyfriends?"

Me: "Oh my gosh. It really might have been [name of former boyfriend]!"

Shawn: "That's awesome."

People! I have never done that. But, it's nice to know that after being together seventeen years, I can still surprise Shawn.

Oops.

Image of "Regret" from here.

Because of the Way He Makes Me Feel

It’s been said that we love a person because of the way they make us feel about ourselves. If that is true, here’s why I love Shawn: 

I feel smart… because of the way he talks to me, understands me and communicates with me. 

I feel pretty… because of the way he looks at me and rarely lets me pass without touching me. 

I feel funny… because we make each other laugh. 

I feel capable… because he forces me to recognize my own strengths and stand on my own two feet. 

I feel confident… because he’s my even-keel. He always reigns me back in if I start to whirl off into the stratosphere, get inappropriate, over-zealous or over-emotional. I know if Shawn says it’s okay, I’m okay. 

I feel needed… because of the way he asks my opinions, seeks out my advice, and appreciates the way I care for and love our family. 

I feel protected… because… well, just try to say something inappropriate to me, or hurt my feelings. You’ll see why. 

I feel spoiled… because he works so hard to provide a beautiful life for his family. And, he still takes me out on date-nights to “buy [me] a new dress.” 

I feel blessed… because this man I love more than life itself has been recreated in two other perfect (to us!) little creatures. I watch him work at being the best, hands-on dad he can be. I watch him put the kids’ wishes above his own. I watch him schedule parent/teacher conferences instead of business meetings. I watch him drag himself around when he is at the edge of exhaustion; I watch him hurry home from work and business trips because the kids have one more activity, one more assignment, one more bedtime. But, he does it. Because he knows that being a good dad is not a passive activity. 

I feel loved… because he’s sensitive to how I feel. He listens to me. He talks to me. He communicates with me. He cares about the things that upset me and the things that bring me joy. He has chosen to. love. me. 

I feel amazed… that one man can be so honest, hard-working, honorable, God-fearing, faithful, kind, generous, sensitive and loving. 

I feel happy… because I’m married to him. 

I feel undeserving… of the lifetime ahead of us that we have to live. But, I feel grateful. Oh, so grateful.

You could call me codependent. You could say my happiness is too contingent upon Shawn. You would be right. The life we have experienced together over these past 17 years, the ups and the downs, the blessings and the tragedies, have made him an intertwined piece of my soul. I don’t know where I begin and he ends. And I pray I never have to find out. 

Happy Birthday, Shawn. I love you.

Wedding Weekend Update

I must check in with you all. Although, my head is so deeply buried in the 900 page epic Pillars of the Earth, I'm now just desperate to finish it so I can go back to being a productive member of society. My Kindle tells me I'm 70% through it. So, that means, what? I only have 270 more pages to go? Great. See you next month.

Anyhoo...

I'm completely overwhelmed by how many of you have told Shawn or me that you've been thinking of us and that you prayed for a peaceful weekend. Truly, I just don't have the words to express my gratitude.

And, I'm happy to report that absolutely nothing blog-worthy happened this weekend other than a beautiful bride married a handsome groom. I adore my new sister-in-law. Heather is beautiful, smart, gracious and funny. Well done, Mike.

And, that bump of Heather's? That's Carter! I'm way more excited about him than I am about Heather - and I'm really excited about Heather! He should make his debut mid-July.

Other than that, we had some great times visiting with family and making new friends. The Easter Bunny had been to every house we went to yesterday, so I'm pretty sure my kids are going to start insisting we travel on Easter - just so they can stock up on the loot!

So, that's it. Thanks again for all the thoughts and prayers. Throw a few more up for Mike and Heather's new marriage and their life together. Like I told Mike: I am a better person because of the person with whom I chose to spend my life. I pray the same blessing for them.

What I've been doing while I wasn't blogging

I know it's been long enough since I've checked in that some of you have started to worry that the reality of moving has finally sunk in and I've begun rocking myself in the corner. I haven't.

What I haven't been able to tell you is that Shawn moved me to a new city and then left town for ten days.

Rude.

I couldn't tell you because of the murderers and all... And, by the way, my fears were not alleviated by the fact that he took the time to reacquaint me with the handgun before he left. Awesome. He thinks he's moved me to a town of thieves and scoundrels.

But, I scored some really awesome roses out of the deal.

And, he's back now, being as helpful around the house and with the kids as ever. I can get back to blogging. Finally. Does he not know how his earning a living really interferes with what I want to do sometimes?! (His response would be: "Yeah. Turns out everyone in the family likes to eat.")

So, to catch you up:

Thursday, I traveled two hours to get my hair done. Excessive? If you think so, clearly you've never loved your hair colorist. That. And, it's Joyce who's taken care of me since I was fifteen. Sometimes you just have to travel two hours to get your hair done.

While I was there, I asked her to wax my eyebrows. Eyebrow maintenance has been very low on my list of priorities since moving. I just haven't been motivated to find "an eyebrow person." (I'm not sure how one gets oneself motivate to find "an eyebrow person," actually.) Joyce went to work and exclaimed, "Oh my gosh, girl! These eyebrows! No wonder you haven't made any friends up there!"

Rude.

And, right after she ripped the wax off she said, "That was probably like the first time!" Well, ummm, Joyce? I'm not sure what "first time" you're talking about, but,  no. No, it wasn't. At all.

I'm proud to announce that the last of the boxes are unpacked (well, except for the piles and piles and piles of boxes of china and crystal. Why, pray tell, do I own so much china and crystal? You would think I'm much fancier than I actually am. But, there's nowhere for it to go in this house, so, for now, it will stay in the boxes and I shall proclaim myself unpacked! And fancy...)

Back to the story: On Friday, I worked on actually decorating the house. My mom has a friend who is a decorator. And, if you think I'm too proud to take advantage of that relationship, you'd be wrong. That was slower going than I thought. And, of course I discovered that I needed to buy a few things because, well, duh.

Priscilla came to visit on Saturday. And, since she was here we asked her to babysit so we could go on a Date Night. We're awesome hosts like that. Seriously. We should write a book.

But, we all had fun while she visited. You would have thought by the kids' reactions that iCarly herself had come for a visit.

We all drove back to Lubbock together on Sunday. We had to clear some final things out of the house for closing (turns out the new owners don't want our broken armoir or ottoman, or all the miscellaneous crap that was hiding under said armoir and ottoman - weird). And, on Monday there was that shopping I told you had to be done for the new house...

But, anyway. We're back. The kids are back to school. I'm back to blogging. All is right with the world.

The house is a wreck. So, I'm off to get busy. A girl doesn't score roses around here for nothin', you know!



Also, for those of you who have been wondering, the divorce is final. Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition. I never want to experience anything like that again. as. long. as. I. live.

"I'm going to blog that you said that."

Everyone else seems to have an xtranormal.com movie on their blog. So, I want one, too. (And, yes. If they all jumped off a bridge I would want to do that, too.)

Here's a conversation that happened between Shawn and me last night. We were discussing a hole in the bathroom wall where the towel hook was ripped out (by the weight of a seven year old boy hanging on it pulling too hard to get his towel off of it). I finally, finally, finally remembered to buy a patch kit.

This is exactly what the discussion was like. Except that we were in our bedroom. Except that I'm not African-American. Except that Shawn's not redhead and the same size as me. Except that neither of us has a fro. And, I'm pretty sure it takes inflection for the things that we say to be funny. So, just imagine all those things, and this is exactly the conversation we had last night:

This Divorce is not my story to tell, but I DO have a story: Part II

[Ok. So, I got a little bit of a scolding constructive criticism from my dad. Eeek. He caught me cussing! Quick, can I spend the night at your house?!

No, seriously, he said that I "make a good argument, but completely diminish it by being crude." So, for that, I apologize. Please read in between my very angry, hurt and defensive lines yesterday. Take my off-colored language as code for "You wanna go?! We'll go." Know that I just wasn't smart enough yesterday to express my overwhelming emotions without it. Not a good excuse, I know. But, it's all I got.

Summary: I support my sister. Please be kind to her.]

And now, for Part II (which my dad probably recognized was coming from the "Part I" of yesterday's title and was trying to preemptively stop any more f-bombs...)

Someone else's divorce is not my story to tell.

• My story is: I get a phone call from Brandy while I'm at Boy Scout sign-up night. She's sobbing so hard I can't understand her and I get so mad at what I'm told that I want to punch a wall. (in case you're wondering... not a wall-puncher.)
• My story is: I get stopped in the middle of running errands by a phone call and end up in a parking lot on the "wrong side of town" yelling and debating into the phone for an hour. (in case you're wondering... not a yeller or debater.)
• My story is: I get stopped in my tracks when I let my mind wander too far during exercise and start to cry. I start a conversation with Shawn and start to cry. I cry a lot. And I don't let myself cry a whole lot more than that.
• My story is: There is probably a memo being circulated among my friends warning them not to ask me, "How's life?"
• My story is: Four people I love are hurting and it leaves a hole in my chest.
• My story is: I am so tired from the overwhelming emotion of it all that that's why I can't focus; that's why I can't remember; that's why I drop even the most basic of "balls".
• My story is: This situation makes me realize, in my lifetime, I've been the judgmental *&%$ (insert cuss word I'm not using today). I’m sorry for all the times you, my friends and family, have made a decision that wouldn’t have fit into my life, into my situation, and I judged you. I love you. I pray for your peace. I pray for your happiness. I am disgusted with the cocky child I've been in the past. And, I humbly apologize to you.
• My story is: I am devastated by the warning flares she sent up for years that, in hindsight, I now see. I, her best friend, the person who knows her better than anyone in this world, missed them. I never noticed them until those flares had become a wildfire.
• My story is: I'm so filled up with a story that isn't mine to tell that I can't think of a single other thing to blog about. (Noticed a lot of pictures and recipes lately? And one thrilling post that was a list of my daily activities! Thank goodness my children are still hysterical; and Shawn still makes me laugh.)
• My story is: I'm so blissfully happy with my own family and the joy we experience together on a daily basis that the boomerang effect of emotions leaves me exhausted.

That's my story.

This Divorce is not my story to tell, but I DO have a story: Part I

[Warning: Anyone who chooses to believe I am sweet and innocent should NOT read the following post. Dearest In-laws, don't say I didn't warn you. And please don't scold me for my language at the next family holiday...]

I'm back from visiting my sister and nieces. She's getting divorced. That's not my story to tell.

What is my story is how appallingly people can behave in this traumatic situation. People who profess to be friends, people who profess to "love" us turn into the most judgmental assholes. They listen to one side of a story (without even requesting the other side); they pretend to even be able to know what went on behind closed doors; they believe themselves to be some kind of psychic who can know without question what someone feels/has felt in their heart; they give unsolicited advice; and they judge. Oh, how they judge.

Raise your hand if you have walked a mile in my sister's shoes. Oh? What? None of you?! Well, you're so busy judging her and telling her that she must not be in her right mind; that she must be "happy" and refuse to see it; that she just needs to choose to be happy because all that really matters is that her situation looks so perfect; that she is not doing what God wants her to do (by the way, this "holier than thou" attitude is my personal favorite) that I would have thought one of you knew every. single. detail of her situation - not just what you've been told of her situation; not just the "picture perfect" family that you saw spit-shined and smiling out in public. Hmmm. Weird. You would think to have come this far in life, you would have figured out that there are two sides to every story. But, no. You're probably right. Keep preachin' it, you judgmental pricks.

You know what, people. Fuck you. If you aren't here to be helpful, supportive, or, in the very least, loving, then leave. We do not want your opinion. We do not need your criticisms. The only person we will allow to judge our hearts is Almighty God Himself.

And, here's what I believe in my deepest heart: Would you ever, ever, ever, ever want your child to live in unhappiness? Don't we all want our children to live the lives of joy that we envisioned for them? Wouldn't we all be more angry with our children if they were too embarrassed to admit they made a mistake; too proud to break a promise than to live a life one iota less joyful than we have dreamed for them? Can you not imagine how much greater God's love is for us than our human love is for our own children?!

Nobody knows how to slog through this hell perfectly. Pretty much, everyone's just trying to survive.

So, get off your freakin' high horses, people. Know that there are two sides to every story, there is very private and personal pain for everyone involved. And, be loving even if you can't be supportive.

And, to those of you who have been loving - whether by a word, a hug, an email or even just smiling and keeping your mouth shut - please know that, for what it's worth, you have this sister's undying gratitude.

The Post with Emotional and Physical Abuse

This weekend my sciatic nerve hurt. I'm sorry. Let me rephrase that: It HURT. It hurt like a lightening bolt of pain was shooting up and down my rump and leg. (And, yeah, yeah. I suffer from old lady ailments now. Leave me alone. It still HURT.)

Saturday night, as we turned off the t.v. and got up from the couch to go to bed, I gasped and cried out in pain.

Shawn laughed. (Let me give you moment to take that in...)

I told him (as I was doubled over catching my breath) that he was rude.

He said he was sorry but it's been a while since he's heard me cuss in pain. (Somehow cussing while gasping doesn't prove how much more it hurts - it just means it's funny.)

I tried to storm off indignantly, but I gasped in pain again.

This time he laughed hysterically. He had enough sense, though, to realize that I had hobbled within striking distance. He attempted to protect his upper body from my fists.

I walked away dragging my leg.

He somehow found the ability to laugh. even. harder. He said the lightening bolt of pain must have left a corncob behind in its wake. Everyone's a comedian. (Everyone's not a good comedian, though.)

I walked into the kitchen. He followed. I gasped. He SNORTED.

So rude.*

***********************************************************

On Monday, I found more of those "fine lines and wrinkles" around my eyes that the Oil of Olay commercials have been warning me about for years. Just as I did, Shawn walked in the bathroom. I showed him my wrinkles and asked, "Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I'm ninety-four?"

He shrugged and said, "Ehhh... Yeah."

Gee. Thanks.

Later, I tried to google the song so I could remember who sang it. (Okay! Okay! Stop yelling all at once! I know now it was The Beatles.) When I found it, I said to Shawn, "Oh wait. I was wrong. It's SIXTY-four."

His response? "Oh, sixty-four? Yeah! I can DEFINITELY do sixty-four. Ninety-four's a LONG time."

Rude.

(I think Shawn and I will probably look a LOT like the couple at 0:50.

I mean it's kinda eerie - like they did an age progression of us or something.)

***********************************************************

*I told him I was going to blog about this so the world would know of his treachery and heartlessness. He started laughing and said, "It was funny. I would pay money to see it again!"

So. Rude.

I'm scared to post this because I don't want you to know how deep my issues run

Sometimes I can tell God is forcing me to become the person I'm meant to be. I usually don't like it.  I usually stomp my feel like a little girl who doesn't get candy for dinner.  But, when this has happened in the past, it has always, always, always worked for good - just as soon as I stopped the tug-of-war and turned over control to Him.  It has all led to the beautiful life I have.

I have healthy and (usually) happy children. My husband makes it clear that he adores me (and, surprisingly, this has much less to do with love notes and roses than it does with helping to put the kids to bed; and doing the dishes; and, hearing - no LISTENING to - me when I have something to say.)  I am healthy. I have friends who love me. I get to be the stay-at-home mom I always hoped to be.

It's not the perfect life for everyone, but it's the perfect life for me.

Yet, even with history on His side, I still resist.  I want things my way - the way I envision them.  But, just like Peter, every time I take my eyes off Jesus and focus instead on the storm around me, I start to sink. Every time. I start to think I'm not good enough and never will be.  I start to wonder why in the world people would want to be friends with such a freak as me.  I forget that I am perfectly the person He made me to be.

Sometimes I think I'm a little slow.

Does anyone else do this?  The Magic 8 Ball of your life says "Outlook good [if you would just shut up and trust]", but the devil on your shoulder tells you you're still not good enough to deserve your blessings; tells you to work a little bit harder to do it your way?

I'm sorry, now that I'm married, I don't date

We arrived at equestrian camp on Monday at the same time as a darling little boy and his dad.  At pick-up that day, the little boy's mom, dad and little brother were all there to get him.  We visited waiting for the kids to finish.

Tuesday, I'm walking Spence into the building as "dad" is walking out.  We say hi and - hold on a minute - Did you just look me up and down, man?!  Ok. Ok. Surely not.  And, if so, it's probably because I'm wearing exercise clothes and you're embarrassed for me that I'm out in public.

Later at pick-up, again, I'm walking in as he's walking out and he says, low and gravelly and almost directly into my ear (No. Surely not.  I'm making that up, right?!  Right?!), "How was your day?" "Good." "Well, that's good to hear." Shake it off, Ali.  And, for the love of God, get. over. yourself.  You probably think the mailman comes to your house every day because he wants to see you, too.  Or the sacker at the grocery store - you know, he's always trying to walk me out to my car...  "Conceited, party of one?"

Wednesday, we drop the boys about the same time and head out to the parking lot.  I get to my car door and.  BOOM.  "Dad" is standing at my door. Red flag!  Red flag!  Stranger Danger!

"Hey, I was wondering... Do you want to give me your number? [beat.  beat. As I look at him in stunned silence]  We could get the boys together sometime."

Now honestly, my naiveté knows almost no bounds.  But, even I can recognize that this exchange should make me uncomfortable since the entirety of it occurred while he stared at my boobs.  Honest to goodness.  I am not making this up.

I said, "Sure," because, obviously, you have to literally set me on fire before I would want to hurt your feelings or make you feel bad.  (Seriously, what is wrong with me?!)  He whips out his phone and takes my number. Damn. Damn. Damn.

I get in my car and have two schools of thought:  1)  Get over yourself. (reference entire conversation with myself from the day before); or, 2)  There are creepy people in this world.  And, how do I know this isn't the "dance" that married people do when they want to "date"?

But, I also think, I am not making up the fact that we just had an entire conversation with his eyes on my chest.  And, he's a grown man.  Whether my chest is spectacular or not, he should be able to exert enough self-control to not blatantly stare.  (And, P.S. my chest is not spectacular - which is probably why I was so caught off guard that he wanted to stare!)

I'm also reminded of a Designing Women episode when Mary Jo freaks out at a man in the parking garage because she thinks he's going to attack her.  It turns out he's a client she's never met, but he's seen her picture and just wanted to introduce himself.  She's terribly embarrassed, but he's the one who apologizes saying, he should have known better than to follow her and make her uncomfortable.  And, any man who has a mother or a sister or a wife would much rather she yell and risk embarrassment than become a victim. (Yeah, that's right, I just used Designing Women's powerful life lesson.)  So, really, shouldn't this husband, this son, be a little more aware of the way he is making women feel?  Would he want someone giving his wife the "oogies" in the horse camp parking lot?

Anyway, back to the story...  Of course, this is the day I don't have my phone with me.  When I get home I have a missed call and text.  This is the text:

I'm sorry, Creepy VonCreepster, did you just say, "meet up sometime"?  Don't you mean "GET THE BOYS TOGETHER?!"

So, finally, FINALLY, I have my first moment of clarity and I send him this:

P.P.S.  "he's much better @ getting spence together w/ his buddies" bwahahahahahahaha!

And now I think, "I have got to talk to Shawn.  He'll tell me if I'm overreacting or if this man is officially creepy since he's set my instincts a-buzzing four times now.  At the very least, if this is just the most clueless man in all the kingdom and really is just trying to set up a playdate, I need to tell Shawn I just gave out his number."  (Yes. I do have long, run-on sentence conversations with myself in my head.)

Shawn's on a call when I try the office so I text him.  "Dad at horse camp is creeping me out.  Asked for my number to 'get the boys together' so I gave him yours, too."

I got this response:

Well, now I feel like a 13-year old girl who needs to be told not to accept rides from strange men.

My phone rang about 30 seconds later with Shawn wanting the full details. Then, Shawn spent the entire evening answering my phone every time it rang. And "Dad" hasn't been too interested in chatting me up since I gave him my husband's number...  So, maybe I didn't overreact too much...

Anyway, we're all going to have a happy little reunion at the end-of-camp performance this afternoon.  I really look forward to the realization in "Dad's" eyes as he has the thought, "Oh.  Your husband could crush me."  Or, best case scenerio, he is just the most clueless man that ever lived.  In that case, he'll probably try to set up that playdate...



**Post-camp addendum:  Well, Creepy VonCreepster it is!  He stayed no less than 20 yards from Shawn and me at all times during the end-of-camp program.  I said to Shawn, "Well, the way he's avoiding us makes me think that he knew he was being inappropriate."  Shawn looked at me in-that-way-he-looks-at-me-when-he's-trying-to-figure-out-if-I-could-have-actually-said-what-I-just-said and said, "You think?!"

A Reunion, A Wedding and A Funeral

Seriously.  All of that happened this weekend.

REUNION

Some of my older friends had their twentieth high school reunion (I won't have mine for two more years, being so young and all).  So, some other friends decided to jump on the chance to come back to the ol' hometown and visit. We all had a great time together and acted appropriately socially-unacceptable.  But, I haven't baked so much in a while - my friends are very demanding about their sweets requirements.

Our dear friend Mike (that's his grownup name, but we've known him so long we still call him Mikey) stayed with us.  It was a long overdue visit and it was good to see him.  Not only is he a great guy, he oohs and ahhs over my cherry pie every time he has it.  He's the only person in this world that makes me feel like a regular Betty Crocker.

Here's a story that sums up a friendship with Mikey:

We were freshmen in college.  Mike lived in an apartment and I lived in the dorms. But, I wanted to make cookies.  Not being a fool, Mikey said I was welcomed to use their oven.  When it was time to pull the cookie sheet out of the oven, I grabbed a wet dishtowel to use as an oven mitt.  Well, you can imagine how well that worked out for me.  I exclaimed something like, "Ow! Ow! Ow!" and Mikey reached over and took the hot tray from me with his bare hands.  I'm not sure how good his cookies tasted after that - what with the chunks of his burned flesh sticking to them.  But, that's Mikey in a nutshell: he will completely sacrifice his own well-being to help a friend in need.

And, in return, he says he can tell how much I love him by how emotionally abusive I am to him...  I feel it's important to let the people you love know how much you care.

Quotes of the reunion weekend:

• "You could put me in a room with a hundred little girls and I would know Lulu was Ali's daughter."  (I thought that was sweet right up to the point when Elizabeth burped louder than her father.)
• "I do have a job, Ali!" (Mikey may have said this in response to something emotionally abusive I said...  And, to be fair, it's even a salaried job!)
• "No.  We're not identical twins.  I have a penis and she doesn't."

WEDDING
Next, Shawn's business partner got married on Saturday.  He and his bride are a beautiful Barbie and Ken couple.  That fact makes me like them a little bit less, but I try not to hold it against them too much.  Because, otherwise, I adore them.  And their wedding and reception were per.fec.tion.

Quotes of the wedding weekend:

• "Nana, I hate it when you dance like that."  (Honestly, I hope someone got a video of this woman and puts it on YouTube.)
• "Quick!  While everyone's watching them cut the cake, we can eat directly off the buffet!"  (I'm classy.  So are my friends.)
• "He's been practicing for four and a half months to be able to walk her down the aisle." (Said about the bride's dad who broke his back in a water skiing accident.  He not only walked his daughter down the aisle, but also danced a father/daughter dance with her.  It was a beautiful, tear-jerking sight.  It's not something I can imagine I will forget, well, ever.  I felt honored to be a witness.)

FUNERAL

Finally, and sadly, a friend of Shawn's lost her battle with pancreatic cancer after an eight month fight.  She was 56.  The visitation was Sunday.  The funeral is today.

Quote of the funeral weekend:

• "I never realized how much I adored her.  I always thought there would be 'another tomorrow.'  Until you realize, there aren't going to be any more tomorrows.  But, at least we had time together to take care of things once we realized that."

Needless to say, Shawn and I came home and held on to each other for a while... just in case there aren't any more tomorrows.

A Passing Wave to Our Anniversary

Our eleven year anniversary was Saturday, June 5th.  Here's how the week looked: 

• We returned home from our family reunion vacation (I promise I have pictures to show you from that!) on Tuesday evening.
• Wednesday I did a whole lot of laundry and Shawn and I both had meetings at church.
• Thursday evening the kids had their final swim lessons.
• Friday Lulu had her dress rehearsal for her dance recital (I promise, promise I have some darling pictures to show you from that one!).
• Saturday was the dance recital complete with two, count 'em, two performances - the last one at 9:00 in the evening.  Yes, you're remembering correctly, she's not even four yet.  (But, she did love every minute of it, so I didn't feel too much like a Toddlers & Tiaras mother - yet.)
• Sunday morning Shawn left town somewhere around the six o'clock hour (I gotta be honest and say I didn't smile and wave him out the door.  I did roll over and grunt a goodbye to him, though - that's something, right?)  He'll be back Wednesday evening. (Yes, I know.  I just did it again.  Do not come murder me while Shawn is away - I have an alarm and a gun.)

All this to say, this may have been our most pathetic attempt at celebrating an anniversary in all these eleven years.  But, in a way - it wasn't.  Eleven years ago was the day our family was created.  And this year we were completely surrounded and involved with our family of four.  Our kids are more cool than we ever could have imagined.  They bring us immeasurable joy and happiness.  Loving them and raising them together has done nothing but bring us closer.

And we love each other more today than we could have even dreamed possible eleven years ago.  We are each other's best friends.  The rest of the world could disappear (although we wouldn't want it to - our friends and family bring beauty to our lives), but as long as we've got each other, we'll be just fine.  My hurts are his hurts, my victories his.  And visa versa.

So, although this anniversary was less than glamorous, Shawn; and, although you're half a continent away... I wouldn't have our life any other way than exactly how it is.  I love you.

"Pretty Nice Little [Weekend]"

I've made a new blogging decision.  I'm not going to blog on the weekends.  The weekends are when life takes off like a bullet around here.  It's when we make memories together - I don't want to miss any of it by hiding out at the computer.

But, here are some highlights from the weekend that was:

Spencer had group violin practice on Saturday morning.  The instructors followed the lesson with a cello performance, just for the kids' enrichment.  I sat there listening to the principal cellist for the symphony orchestra with piano accompaniment, thinking, "Most people have to pay money to hear a performance like this, and here I sit in a classroom at the university listening to one for free, just because I'm fortunate enough that my son takes lessons from amazingly talented people who know amazingly talented people."  Crazy.

Next, Spencer had an afternoon basketball game.  We actually had to have a conversation with our son that went something like, "Stop being polite.  We're really proud of you that you have such good manners.  But, you do not have to let the other team take their turn at making a shot.  You can try to stop them.  You don't have to share the ball, either.  You can try to take it.  Every.  Time.  We'll let you know if you ever get too rude, but for now, get aggressive, son!"

As if that weren't a full enough Saturday, we donned our finery and headed out to the Louise Hopkins Underwood Center for the Arts Gala fundraiser.  Shawn has this neat little party trick (that paid his bills through college).  He knows how to auctioneer.  So, whenever one of our friends chairs a charity event, guess who gets the call for the live auction?  It's starting to get funny, though, the more people he meets as "Shawn Johnson, business man".  They have a slight look of confusion when he steps up on stage.  And, then their reactions are priceless as he starts calling with, "What'll you bid for it?  A thousand where?"  But, honestly, he's very good at it and has just the right je ne sais quoi that allows him to know just who to pick on for a little bit more bidding and when to let it go.  He's gotten unbelievable results for some very worthy charities in town.  It's definitely a gift and he definitely uses it for good.  And, I'm definitely proud.

My brilliantly funny and talented friend, Christy was the MC for the night, too (just a little break from helping her husband run for 137th District Court judge, 'cause I'm sure she had some time on her hands...  And, btw, if you live here, her husband is John "Trey" McClendon.  Early voting has started.  So get out and vote for him!).  It was such a well-put together, well-thought out evening.  Kudos to Britt, Susan and everyone who worked so hard for such a worthy cause.

A couple funny side notes from the night:  You know that lie that we all, as brides, have told our nearest and dearest friends and family?  You know the one.  "I know this dress costs [fill in the blank with any amount that you, as a twenty-something, couldn't afford], but you'll definitely be able to wear it again!"  LIE.  Raise your hand if you EVER wore a bridesmaid's dress after the wedding.  Well, 11 1/2 years after the fact, I wore the skirt that I wore at my sister's wedding.  I "Sharon Stone'd" it up a bit with a button-up shirt instead of the corset top she put us in in '98.  But, nevertheless, it was worn again.

Two things about this picture:

It was taken at 6:21 - clearly.

Why is my hand in that most unnatural claw position?

The other side note is the nice thing my friend Kendra said.  It went something like this, "I read your blog.  You are one funny b*tch.  You're like the Chelsea Lately of the block."  Only to me would this be the best compliment EVER.  But, it is.  Thanks, Kendra.  You can call me a b*tch any time you please.  You made my night.

We awoke to head to church on Sunday, where Elizabeth got a big gulp of communion wine and declared, "That's good milk." (Ahhh.  That's my girl.)  We ate our weight in thin crust Domino's pizza for dinner (so much for making my family nutritious - oh well, so you fall off the wagon every now and then), went to bed...

And, another week has begun.  Happy Monday to you.