The Love and Support of My Husband

10 10 2010

Yesterday, Jason returned from his vacation in the woods, and with him my sense of humor.

Jason and I are very different people, and have very different interests.  But we do have this in common: we enjoy making people uncomfortable with our outrageous and inappropriate comments.

When Jason got home, he asked if I wanted to head to the bar to watch the football game with a couple of his friends.  This is a perfect example of how we are, in many ways, essentially incompatible.  My immediate response was “No” because I wanted a quiet evening at home to (I have to admit this) knit.  And maybe read a book.

But Jason always gets his way in everything.

We headed out to the boys’ favorite bar, where Travis and Colin were already watching the game.  By “favorite bar,” I mean the bartender knows them well, and Jason and Colin have mugs on which their names are etched.

The bartender knows me by proxy, and therefore offered me water or soda – after all, I’m pregnant, right?

I ordered a beer.

The guys and I had some chuckles about this.  They suggested I order a shot.  I held out for awhile, but then Karen joined us via text (she’s out of town, but was getting game updates from her husband, Travis).  When Karen suggested a shot, I knew I had to do it.

Jason flagged the bartender, and without hesitation, she shook me up a shot of vanilla cream and vodka, which I quickly downed as the boys toasted “to the baby!”  (Travis toasted “to the next baby”)

Ah, yes, truly horrifying.

The bartender claimed she had figured I wasn’t pregnant anymore, but we all liked to think she had some doubts before we let her in on the joke.

Due to beer and vodka and pranking, I made a rare concession: I agreed to accompany Jason and Colin to a somewhat seedier bar for some late-night trucker breakfast.

Since I was already deviating from my typical veggies-and-organic cuisine, I went ahead and ordered two greasy breakfasts rather than choose just one.  Mmmmmmm… Biscuits and gravy, bacon, eggs, and pancakes, plus some of Jason’s gravy-covered hashbrowns and english muffin.  Oh, and it began with an appetizer of hot wings.

With four plates in front of me, I was reminded of a bet I have with one of Jason’s friends.  We have a standing date to meet at a famous breakfast place in their college town to have a breakfast eating contest.

“You’ve gotta get a picture of this to send to Josh!” I demanded.

Jason and Colin were game for this, and they each took cell phone pictures of me and my plates, still finishing up my pancakes.

Jason texted Josh the photo, along with this message: “This baby didn’t hang around, but if she keeps eating like this, you’re in trouble.”

Yes, an altogether inappropriate night.

It’s so good to have my husband back, and to have his support through this difficult time.

 

My first post-pregnancy beer was organic, because I still have to watch what I put in my body - for next time. Trucker breakfast was not organic, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, right?

 





The Bachelorette Party: Didi Returns

25 07 2010

Phil was coming to help me weed my three acres, and I was excited.

If you feel anything like I do about weeding, you might wonder why I was excited.  But as I mentioned in a previous post, Phil has a certain kind of Easter-Bunny-for-Grown-Ups kind of magic.  Something interesting was bound to happen.

We started off early Sunday morning.  Granted, we began our weeding extravaganza with a trip to the gas station for supplies and some strong mimosas, but it progressed well.

Here we are with good intentions:

And good intentions we did have.

But by 10am, we were doing this:

And at noon, after a good two hours of dancing, we needed more supplies.  For “weeding the yard.”  So off we went…

This fine employee was hesitant to participate in our shopping trip photo op, but agreed on the basis that it was a "bachelorette party."

Didi has a way of turning up in the strangest places.

Watch out, kiddies, you might get more than a ball to play with!

Or do we want a beer with a little less head?

This lady said, "Oh, I used to do that!" Walk around with a spare head? Really? This was someone we wanted to know!

Beer, wine coolers, and Didi

Beer, $7.99; Wine Coolers, $3.89; Didi, PRICELESS

So, already our day was turning out to be pretty awesome.

But it got better.

Phil made some calls.

By 3:30, we were doing this:

Me and my proud future aunt-in-law

By about 5:00, we were here:

And went on to do this:

I have to admit, it’s not at all what I expected when Phil came to help me weed my yard, but then, I never do know what to expect when Phil comes to town.

I just know it’s gonna be good.





I’ll Never Grow Up, Not Me

8 06 2010

It was a typical scene: Jason and a few of his friends sat around a table in a dim room; fish tacos, Pabst Blue Ribbons, and a pitcher of margaritas in front them.  Among his friends was Travis, new father.

Karen and I sat a little way apart from Jason and his friends.  Karen was nursing her and Travis’s 3-week-old son, and I was keeping her company.  We were talking quietly, and could hear snippets of the boys’ conversation.

We heard Travis first: “But that all changes when they switch to solid food!”

“He’s talking about baby poop!” I exclaimed.

Karen and I were properly impressed that Travis had Jason and the rest of the group listening to him talk about baby poop.

But a few minutes later, I heard Jason jumping in: “They have these hybrid ones, that the inside you flush and the outside you reuse.”

“Karen,” I hissed.  “He’s talking about g Diapers!”

Jason was chatting about a brand of reusable diapers that somehow I had worked into a conversation some weeks past.  I had no idea Jason was paying attention at all – we’re not even married yet, he really has no motivation to tune into my chatter about diapers.

But… He does look pretty good holding a screaming baby:





Three Men and a Baby

2 06 2010

I was very impressed that Karen was willing to bring her infant son over to our construction zone of a house.  Accommodations have once again declined: the wood stove has been removed.  June this year feels more like March, and our only source of heat now is open flames in a Hooverville barrel, burning outside in our driveway.  Baby Carter didn’t seem to mind much.  Neither did he mind when the boys began playing Where Shall We Put the Baby? as he lay peacefully sleeping in his carrier.

With some adjustments, the boys settled him on the deconstructed bar that sat between the fire and the chopping block.  They were quite pleased with themselves and went off to fix burgers.

Carter’s patience didn’t last long.  He began fussing, and I immediately picked him up, the advantage of holding an already crying baby being that you don’t get blamed for making it unhappy and if, by some miraculous coincidence, it actually stops crying, you get all the credit.

The boys weren’t done with giving Carter a good evening, though.  Travis demonstrated a new father’s willingness to change little Carter’s diaper.  And Jason, determined to get the fire going well enough to keep the baby warm, fanned the flames with a large chunk of plywood, entirely oblivious to the fact that he was wafting all the smoke and ash directly at Karen, who was nursing Carter at the time.

Welcome to the world, Baby Boy!





Wrong Address, Officers

16 05 2010

Jason’s group refers to themselves as the Stench Goose Posse; they are on the 16th year of Pole Pedal Paddle Madness; and when they throw parties, everyone within a half mile knows it.  This year, we hosted the 3-day event in traditionally epic SGP style.  And, as tradition holds, the cops came.  It’s standard operating procedure for these parties, and a point of pride for the host.

This year, however, the visit from the cops took a new twist.

The gate to nowhere?  Apparently it leads from the cop car to our house.  That’s right, a 3-acre property, and the cops came in through the back gate.  Yes, the back gate that Jason built 5 days ago for no pressing reason.

But here’s the real oddity: the visit wasn’t due to a noise complaint.

Nope, said the cops.  We got a report of domestic violence, and someone strangling a cat.

Um… Wrong house.

Luckily, the cops were very friendly and found no reason to halt the party.  Rather unluckily, I was in the house attempting to sleep during the whole visit.  Which is too bad, because it’s sounds like they would have been happy to have their photo taken for my scrapbook.

Since I don’t have a picture of the police raiding our property, here are some other PPP-related pics.

a gorgeous race day, warm and breezy

Manimal, personification of the PPP spirit

nothing says "motherhood" like beer

trench and minimal live it up








%d bloggers like this: