The birth of Kate.

Good evening.

It’s May 7, 2017. Kate is eight years old today.

It’s story time here on the blog.

I can’t think of a better story than the birth of Kate. I’ve never written Kate’s birth story. I’m a little surprised at this because birth stories are one of those staple stories we, as parents, tell one another. Placentas, foot-long needles to the spine, a smear of poo on your baby as it slides out – I mean, there’s no filter when it comes to birth stories. No, I didn’t poo on Kate.

Before I begin the story, I will tell you I am feeling more pain now than I did eight years ago. That’s because my dumbass decided to book a dugout suite to watch the Kansas City Royals play the Cleveland Indians on the afternoon of May 6th. This normally wouldn’t be a huge deal but the group of people we joined are good storytellers and their stories always include a party bus, two stripper poles, fireball shots, and Prince’s power ballad, Pussy Control.

Back to my daughter’s day of birth –

Kate was due May 17, 2009. On the evening of May 6th, I felt contractions. I couldn’t sleep through them. Once the contractions were five minutes apart, we called my parents to pick up Emma and headed to the hospital around 2 am on May 7th.

I changed into a hospital gown and monitors were wrapped around my belly. The nurse checked my cervix and we waited.

Nurse: No change. You’re at a 3.

Me: No change?! They’re five minutes apart!

Nurse: I’ll wait another hour but if you don’t move, I might have to send you home. You are welcome to walk the hallways and see if that helps.

I walked the hallways with Scott. Another nurse pushed a baby burrito past us in a clear bassinet.

Nurse: Look at this little girl! Her daddy is a Sporting KC player!

Scott: Really? That’s cool!

I stared at the baby. And then looked at the mountain attached to me.

Me: Don’t let anyone upstage you, Kate. GET OUT.

I waddled back to my room. The nurse checked me again.

Nurse: No change. I’m sorry, Julie. I’m going to have to send you back home.

Scott: And do what?

Nurse: Come back when the contractions get stronger or if her water breaks.

Scott: If her water breaks at home, I’ll be delivering a baby at my own house. You better send me with a handbook on how to deliver a baby.

Me: SCOTT.

Nurse: You’ll be ok. It’s probably false labor.

Scott: No, you don’t understand. She’s Mexican. Last time she had a baby and her water broke, the baby just flew out of her vagina. And the doctor said she’ll be faster with this one. Get ready for us to be on the news with a highway birth.

Me: Scott, it’s fine. We’ll go.

I walked into the bathroom to change into my own clothes. I held on to the sink. The contraction took my breath away. I walked out to the nurse’s station where Scott was still arguing with the nurse. He was writing down notes on the hospital admittance form.

Scott: So I’ll take the shoelace and tie it around the umbilical cord?

Me: Oh my God. Let’s go.

Scott: This nurse is making a huge mistake. Sending us home like this when you’re clearly in labor.

Scott drove me home. The morning light was just starting to fill the sky with color. I was quiet. The contractions were intensifying.

Scott: I guess I’ll call my parents and tell them false alarm. They’re probably almost to Kansas City by now.

Me: Uh huh.

Scott: Why don’t they induce you? What kind of nurse is that?

Me: Mm.

For the next 30 minutes, Scott drove back to our home. We turned down our street. I felt liquid on my legs. I jumped out of the seat.

Me: SCOTT!

Scott: WHAT’S WRONG. WHAT.

Me: Scott. I think. I think my water broke. It’s all wet. Everything is soaked. Scott this can’t happen. Why did she break my water on our street? KATE!!

Scott: Are you sure? Are you sure your water broke?

Me: I know I didn’t pee. It’s gushing. Scott, I can’t stop it. I’m wearing your pajama pants. It’s all over my car! She’s not letting anyone upstage her.

Scott: What?

Me: Just go.

Scott turned around and floored it.

Scott: Damnit. We’re going to hit the morning rush hour traffic.

Scott started to make phone calls. I cried with the pain and the fear of my fast deliveries.

Scott: I DARE A COP TO PULL ME OVER. THIS IS THIS STUPID NURSE’S FAULT. I’M GOING TO FIND HER AND RAISE HELL.

Me: Don’t. Don’t kill us. Scott, you need to hurry.

Another 30 minutes passed and Scott pulled up to the hospital again. A nurse ran out of the emergency department with a wheel chair. I stood up out of the car. Water gushed again. I cried.

Nurse: Yep, your water broke. Let’s go. Dad, park the car and meet her in labor and delivery.

My room sat untouched since I left an hour before. Another nurse walked in.

Nurse: Yep, that’s amniotic fluid. Go change into a gown in the bathroom. If you need to, go ahead and pee too.

I sat on the toilet and peed. I wiped and looked inside the toilet. White flakes were everywhere.

Me: HEY! What is all this? Is something wrong? There’s white flakes in my pee!

The nurse walked in.

Nurse: That’s amniotic fluid. It’s normal. Nice and clear. That’s good.

Me: Oh. Hold on, another contraction. Ok. What happened to the other nurse in here?

Nurse: We had a shift change.

Me: Oh, thank God. No ass ripping.

Nurse: What?

Me: Nothing.

Nurse: I’m going to check you and if you’re far enough, we’ll call the epidural team in here.

Scott arrived. I was at a 6 and the epidural team wheeled their cart in. I finally sat in my bed, relieved I couldn’t feel anything anymore. The nurse walked in again to check me.

Nurse: Wow. You really go fast, don’t you? You’re ready to push!

Me: But I didn’t even get to close my eyes.

Nurse: I’ll call your doctor.

The hospital staff prepped the room. Lights came down out of the ceiling. Stirrups were placed in front of me.

Nurse: Bad news. Your doctor is stuck in traffic.

Scott: Are you kidding me? Can’t one of you deliver her?

Nurse: We could but legally can’t. I’ll call a doctor off the floor. Oh, honey. This baby is falling out.

Another nurse ran in and held Kate’s head. The nurse ran out of the room and ten seconds later a female doctor walked in. She put her hands up, like she was being held hostage.

Doctor: I don’t deliver babies.

Me: WHAT!

Doctor: I didn’t sign up for this. I’m not an obstetrician. I’m a D.O.

Me: You’re not a doctor? What the hell is a D.O.?

I looked at the nurse holding Kate’s head. My legs were spread as far as they could in the angry D.O.’s face.

Oh my God. She’s scared of my big vagina.

Scott: Looks like you’re delivering one now. Someone better catch my daughter or I will.

Nurse: We’ll talk you through it.

I didn’t push. Kate fell into the doctor-but-not-an-obstetrician-doctor’s hands. Kate cried. The nurse took Kate and put her on my chest.

Me: Oh, Kate.

Scott: Hi, Kate! Happy Birthday.

Me: Scott, her hair! She has blonde hair.

My real doctor ran in as the nurse helped Scott cut the cord.

Me: Oh, thank God. Don’t let that woman near me with a needle and thread.

Doctor: I’m so sorry. The traffic. I’ll finish you up. We’re going to deliver the placenta. You might have to push again.

A nurse took Kate away.

Doctor: Beautiful. Placenta looks good. I’m going to stitch you up. What’s your daughter’s name?

Me: Kate. Her name is Kate Audrey.

Scott: Hey! I won the baby football pot! It’s 5-7-9! And 8:30 am!

Me: SCOTT!

Happy birthday, Kate! May 7, 2009 at 8:27 a.m. – you never did let that other baby in the hospital upstage you. You always have the best stories.

___________

Wait, don’t go! Find me on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram

Pillow Talk.

I made a promise to myself.

Yes, I happened to make a promise to myself in January. But it’s not a resolution. I’m back on my feet again and here we are – in January.

I’m back to writing something, anything, every Monday. I’m forcing myself to write once, maybe twice a week. It might be funny. It might not. It might just be me saying hello and that’s it.

So here we go.

… you guys, I got nothin’.

To the draft folder! I wrote this a few days before my niece had emergency surgery to stop bleeding on her brain. I never published this post because, at the time, my world paused. This conversation hid in my drafts for over two years.

Until today. Because this is much funnier than saying hello.

*Notes: Scott isn’t on Twitter anymore. I’m 34 now. My clothing choice reflects the warm night, not January. But I still hold true to my argument – sleeping in lingerie sucks.

________________

Scott: Can I tweet I hate sports bras?

Me: I don’t care what you tweet. What do you mean you hate sports bras? Do you want every guy at the gym to ogle women?

Scott: No. I mean I hate that you wear sports bras to bed.

Me: Um, my boobs are still perky after two breastfed babies. And I’m 31. You’re welcome. Perky-ish.

Scott: And they also shrunk. What are you wearing? A onesie?

Me: It’s called a romper. It’s comfortable.

Scott: It’s a onesie. With a sports bra. Take off the sports bra!

Me: No!

Scott: You’re like Fort Knox!

Me: Fine. What would you like for me to wear to bed, sweet husband of mine?

Scott: Lingerie.

Me: No. I mean to sleep in. I get the whole lingerie thing. Whatever. But I’m not sleeping in that. I get cold. And the girls would see me in the morning and they’ll be all “Oooooo. Pretty lacy red dress. You look pretty, mommy! Can I try it on? It’s my size!”  Next thing you know they will be showing their friends their new dress up clothes in my closet drawer.

Scott: You have a lingerie drawer?

Me: Yes.

Scott: Never knew that.

Me: I just want to be comfortable when I sleep. Sports bra. T-shirt. PJ shorts.

Scott: Wait, where is this red, lacy lingerie?

Me: In. My. Lingerie. Drawer. This is like me asking you to go to bed with a tool belt on and nothing else. You can’t sleep in that.

Scott: You want me to wear a tool belt?

Me: Oh my God. It doesn’t matter! Tool belts, lingerie, sports bras and t-shirt, WE END UP NAKED ANYWAY. Gah!

Scott: Don’t hate on Victoria.

Me: Who the hell is Vic-oh my God. And don’t hate on her secret too?

Scott: Don’t hate on Victoria.

Me: I love Victoria’s Secret. They sell sports bras. And let me tell you something – every advertisement for Victoria Secret is photoshopped. The real Victoria wakes up with a boob popped out of the lingerie, a string stuck up her ass, like way up. And that ass is far from clean the next morning because Victoria farts in her sleep. She has no make up and morning breath. Morning breath that will make you turn away. But you wouldn’t know this because she stole the giant comforter from you and has it wrapped twice around her body because she’s freezing. And don’t get me started on wearing heels to bed.

Scott: Sorry, I’m a man. I just want to see my beautiful wife in lingerie.

Me: Look all you want, take it off, wear it yourself. But when it’s time to sleep, I’m changing to something comfortable. You shouldn’t care what I’m sleeping in because you will be sleeping too, dreaming of me.

Scott: In a onesie and a sports bra at Fort Knox.

Ladies, tell him I’m right on this one – we’re freezing when we wake up the next morning. Do you enjoy wearing lingerie? Do you enjoy actually sleeping in it? Do all men agree with Scott? Do all men want to see their beautiful wife/girlfriend/lover in lingerie? Or do you want to see her in whatever makes her happy?

I don’t believe in cold vacations.

Call me ignorant. Call me uneducated. Call me hard-headed. Call me what is that crazy-ass woman screaming about and who is Scott?

In four weeks, my crazy will be showing on top of a mountain.

Scott is taking me skiing in Keystone, Colorado. He will push me down a mountain and expect me to lean forward like I’m on some sort of suicide mission.

Scott’s current annoyance level with me is at a “fine, screw it. I’ll hire private lessons for you on the first day. I’m not dealing with this.” Whatever level that is.

We took the family to Dick’s Sporting Goods to get snow skiing gear.

Kate: I know how to spell dicks! D-I-C-K-S! Dicks.

Emma: Kate, you’re just copying the Dicks sign.

It was Scott’s last laugh.

I don’t know, the words just came spewing out of my mouth and now Scott isn’t talking to me anymore:

Scott, I’ve never seen a mountain. I went to Denver once but it was cloudy.

I told you. I don’t believe in cold vacations. All of my beliefs are traced back to my parents. Don’t blame me on how I was raised.

What do you expect? My mom is Mexican.

I was raised normal, Scott.

What happens if I don’t want to get off the ski lift? Can I ride back down?

What happens if I don’t want to go down once I’m pushed off the lift?

Can I ride on someone’s back and close my eyes?

Can you pull me on a sled and I’ll close my eyes?

All I’m saying is I’d much rather be three quarters naked on a boat.

Yeah, well fighting a 200 pound fish is a workout too.

How many layers of clothes? How is this even considered a vacation? Vacations are meant for as little clothing as possible.

I swear, if you take off with your friends and leave me on top of a mountain by myself, I will click off those skis and walk sideways down the mountain. I will find you and strangle you.

Given the choice of looking crazy or rolling down a mountain in a ball of snow, I’ll take crazy.

Oh, I can’t wear those ski pants. I’m only shopping for Burton apparel.

Yes, I plan on telling people that my last name is Burton so yes, people will know.

How is that embarrassing?

Hell no, I won’t try snowboarding! I’d rather walk sideways.

What are the ski stick thingies for? Is it a brake?

Why would I need zippers on my pockets? Oh, so you do take your phone with you when you ski. I don’t like that idea at all. I wouldn’t want my death put on YouTube.

I went skiing once in 5th grade on a hill in Kansas or maybe Missouri. It’s called Snow Creek. My friend’s parents took me with their family. All I remember is cold and where’s my mommy.

Is Keystone like the cheap-y economy style skiing resort? You know, like, the beer?

How am I acting like a child? Oh, worse than a child? Because I’m arguing about scenarios that haven’t even happened. That makes complete sense.

Avalanches are a real thing.

Frost bite is a real thing.

Mountain lions are a real thing.

Me getting my tongue stuck on the bar lift on purpose so I don’t have to go down a mountain is a real thing.

Uh, can totally see you sneaking off the side of the mountain to go shoot a mountain lion.

I’m not dumb. I’m just realistic.

Well, maybe I can hang with you and your friends on the double black diamond. You don’t know. Maybe I’ll be a natural.

Don’t tell me I’m not allowed on the double black diamond, Scott. You’re not my father.

Then send a helicopter.

Yeah, I’ve seen pictures of people smiling during their skiing trip. I feel sorry for them. They look cold. Teeth chattering makes a natural smile.

How is preferring warm weather being judgy?

So it’s going to be the exact same temperature as here? Great. I’m frozen.

No, I didn’t bring a coat. I don’t need it running in and out of a store.

Yes, I still want to go.

Why would you cancel it?

I promise, Scott. I won’t be the crazy wife.

 

Have you ever been snow skiing? Do you prefer skiing over a warm vacation? Has your spouse quit talking to you because of your hard-headedness? Am I the only person to never see a mountain? Any advice is welcome! I’ll listen to you, just not Scott.

snow

You can be my wingman anytime.

Scott: How can I kiss you if you look like a man?

Me: I’m sorry I’m not as pretty as Tom Cruise, Scott.

You are welcome, Ladies

I, on the other hand, did NOT lose that lovin’ feeling with volleyball scene Ice Man. He’s mine, ladies. And gentlemen who like volleyball scene Ice Man.

We hit below freezing temperatures last night. I’m pleased with my decision to special order my jacket from some guy in England who makes replica Maverick jackets. It was expensive but warm. I am also pleased Scott doesn’t read my blog and will never know this information. Cheerio!

It was a bitter night in the ‘hood but the cul-de-sac home base upped the stakes this year.

The Halloween staples – candy for the kids and beer for the adults – were put in place.

We had whiskey for the crazies and for the one with exposed nipples.

The propane heater was roaring next to the fired up grill with hotdogs.

Beer too cold? Make yourself a coffee with Bailey’s!

The kids filed down in groups. The parents were right behind them. They danced to Thriller. Candy was thrown. It was a Halloween for the books.

It was the perfect Halloween until, “Hey! It’s Amelia Earhart! Great costume!”

And then I became a woman again.

The traditional morning after picture. Maverick only drinks from the best of the best coffee cup.

The traditional morning after picture. Maverick only drinks from the best of the best coffee cup. Oh look! So does Michael Jackson.

What did you do for Halloween? Did you dress up? Was it a cold night where you live too? Are you already thinking about what you are going to be next year? Only 365 left!

The selfish post.

I was left with a mind-boggling question. I still don’t know the answer to it.

It is confirmed that I’m the lamest person on earth.

This question was brought to Scott and me by our good friends, Danny and Christine.

Danny and Christine are somewhere over the Atlantic right now. They have 15 hours left on a plane since their last text message was sent to us around dinner time.

This picture will post before they even land. I hope I have their permission.

This picture will post Monday morning before they even land. I hope I have their permission.

 

They are flying to Johannesburg, South Africa. They are going on an African hunt trip. I told you we are good friends. What’s that saying? Birds of feather, flock together? Yeah, Scott wishes he was flocking with them on their 18 hour flight right now. Danny has his eyes on a baboon. Christine has her eyes on…well, I don’t know what Christine is doing there but I hope she takes a selfie with a lion.

One of our last conversations before they left –

“What would you do if you won the lottery? Not a few thousand dollars, but billions. Let’s say money is no longer a worry for you. You set aside money for the kids to live well. You set aside money for your families. How would you spoil yourself?”

I gave them a blank look.

Me: Oh. Um. Well, I have a laptop to write. I have books to read. I don’t have any other hobbies. Oh my gosh, who am I? Maybe start a publishing company?

Danny: You need a publisher? I know one.

Me: Oh! What? Well, really? That still doesn’t answer the question. Ummm…

I’ve been racking my brain. Am I human? Am I boring? Am I happy? Let me tell you, there has been some soul searching going on this weekend. I asked Scott again. Maybe he will find my answer.

Me: What did you say to Christine and Danny’s question? Buy hunting land?

Scott: I would buy hunting land in Kansas or Iowa as an investment.

Me: Investment?

Scott: And hunting purposes.

Me: If money didn’t matter, why would you need the investment?

Scott: The statistics show most lotto winners go bankrupt. I would have to prepare for that and make an investment. I would also buy you a house in the Keys.

Me: No, buying me a house is not a selfish reason. I’m talking about YOU. How would you spend money on just you.

Scott: Oh, ok. Hold on. Let me think…

Me: Really?

Scott: What? Is this a trick question?

Me: Nope. Go ahead.

Scott: I would start my own business of some sort.

Me: Money doesn’t matter! You would go back to work?

Scott: I would get bored. Maybe I would open a sports bar in Aggieville.

Me: Do you want your daughters going to K-State when their dad owns a bar in Aggieville?

Scott: Hm, yeah that might end bad. I would get a new truck, all jacked up. I know! I would make a sick hunting lodge for all my friends to use. I would build one in Kansas, Iowa, Florida, New Mexico. I would buy up elk tags too.

Me: (rolling my eyes)

Scott: This is a trick question. What do you want me to get you?

Me: I don’t know!  That’s what I’m trying to think of. Fishing boat?

Scott: Our friends have those. Why buy our own?

Me: To have our own crew? Hire a captain.

Scott: Nah, we can just bum off our friends.

Me: Hm. I’m out of ideas for me.

Scott: I would also get a motorcycle. And a boat.

Me: I just asked you if you would buy a boat!

Scott: No, like a lake fishing boat.

Me: Oh. Fresh water? Really? I’ll go fish in the Dominican with our friends while you sit on a lake in Kansas.

Scott: My house would have a 4 car garage and a tandem garage to the side.

Me: Whoa! You are just radiating testosterone right now, I think I’m growing a penis just sitting next to you.

Scott: I’d like to be a farmer.

Me: You mean to tell me if you were a billionaire, you would purchase land so you can farm it?

Scott: (laughing) You know, just have fun with a tractor on farm land.

Me: What? You would be a pretend farmer?

Scott: (laughing) This is a hard question!

Me: Well, I don’t know. You have quite the man-list here.

Scott: I told you! I would buy you a house in the Keys for you and all your girlfriends to hang out.

Me: Yeah, a house in the Keys would be cool but apparently I am already getting that from you. I would need a boat to fish from, nothing fancy. What is wrong with me? I don’t know how to spoil myself? I hate shopping. I do like to travel but buying a private jet is out because if a jet is going down, it’s always the small private jets. Nope.

Scott: You have serious problems.

Me: Wait, I got it! I would buy tickets to the Super Bowl every year. And every K-State game. College Football Championship tickets. Oh! And the World Series! There! There’s my answer – front row seats to every major sporting event. That’s how I would spoil myself. That’s a good answer, right? We would have fun!

Scott: You do know the Royals won’t play in every World Series.

Me: Yes, I know that, Scott. But I would still wear my Royals gear.

Scott: And my wife grew a penis.

Me: Take a selfie with a lion?

Scott: Oh, she’s back.

 

Your turn! How would you spoil yourself if you won billions of dollars? Be selfish. What are your hobbies? Would you still invest money if you didn’t have to worry about money anymore? If you had to fish with one of us – would you pick marlin fishing with me or bass fishing with Scott? 

lion

1985.

Scott: Wake up! Why do you keep falling asleep!

Me: Huh. What. Did they win?

Scott: IT’S GONE. IT’S GONE! BALL GAME.

Me: What happened.

Scott: Royals won. Go back to sleep.

Me: Ok, good. Good night.

 

1985.

Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” was released.

Back to the Future was showing in theaters.

Growing Pains and The Golden Girls made their TV debut.

Microsoft introduced Windows 1.0.

The Nintendo Entertainment System appeared on shelves in the U.S.

The Titanic was found on the bottom of the Atlantic.

My mom was pregnant with my brother.

I was 4 years old.

My sister had a case of the terrible twos.

My other sister didn’t exist. She was like the picture of Marty McFly’s sister on Back to the Future.

1985 was the last year the Kansas City Royals were in the playoffs.

In 1985, the Kansas City Royals won the World Series. They defeated the St. Louis Cardinals.

I don’t remember any of it.

Childhood amnesia blocked out the years 1981-1985. The only thing I remember about my life is in photographs. I don’t remember feeling my mom’s stomach kick. I don’t remember my sister’s terrible two meltdowns. I don’t remember moving into a new house that year. I don’t remember standing in a crowd of legs at the Royals World Series parade in Kansas City. I don’t remember blue confetti falling in my dark hair. I don’t remember.

But if I open the window on a cool fall night and turn the baseball announcers’ voices on low volume, I can relax. If I lay my head in a lap and that person runs their fingers through my hair – I will fall asleep. It’s like a drug.

The only thing missing is the pregnant belly near my head but everything else is the same.

That I do remember.

 

Are you just as shocked that the Kansas City Royals are in the playoffs? Do you think they will make it to the World Series? What is one of your earliest childhood memories involving professional sports? Does anyone have Royals tickets Scott and I can buy from you? I promise I won’t fall asleep at a live game.

royals

 

The big one.

Scott: Do you know how lucky you are to be married to me? I take you to places like the Dominican Republic for our 10-year anniversary.

Me: Uh, do you know how lucky you are to be married to me? You have a wife that hates shopping and loves to fish. It’s not even a trip to the Dominican Republic to me. It’s a trip to the Atlantic Ocean.

This is the big one.

The big fishing trip.

Every fishing trip this year was practice for the Dominican Republic. My confidence is up.  It has to be – I will have professional anglers yelling at me to keep the line tight. I’m expecting it. And I’m going to yell right back at them: I LOVE YOU TOO!  The yelling will be forgiven when we’re smiling for the cameras holding up a 200-pound blue marlin.

They're all going to yell at me.

They’re all going to yell at me. And those are sailfish, not marlin.

But it’s another big one. Today is our wedding anniversary. 1 decade. 10 years. 3,652 days of marriage.

3,652 days of marriage doesn’t sound like an important milestone. 1,000 days sounds important. Or maybe 5,000 days. A decade is a milestone and there should be a speech with that.

Words from the bride, aged 10 years –

Out of 3,652 days, most days were good. And some days were not good. They were terrible, really. It’s hard to imagine what forever means when you’re a 22-year-old at the alter.

I have never baked a turkey on Thanksgiving. I fake sleep so the kids will bother Scott in the mornings. I have been known to ask Scott to do something repeatedly – some call it nagging. I also scream. I yell. I answer with, “fine.”

I am not the wife of the year.

I do know that day 3,649 sucked. Scott dragged me to a spinning class with him. I walked out of there convinced he was trying to give me a heart attack or fracture my butt bones.

Day 667 and day 1755 were life-changing days for both of us. But this post isn’t about becoming parents.

Like babies growing up, it’s impossible to see the change in a marriage day-to-day. If you look at a photograph of us a decade ago, you’ll see it. Change. We have wrinkles around the eyes when we laugh now. Scott doesn’t wear his wedding ring because he lost it. My hair color is not its natural color anymore. We have sunspots on our faces. Our looks are going downhill.

We’re also closer. Our personalities changed in ten years. Our feelings on marriage, kids, friends, work, good music, and the definition of a perfect night out changed in ten years. You may not see that kind of closeness in a photograph – although, you might see it in the picture-perfect world of Instagram. I love a good filter.

Scott and I were complete opposites when we got married. Our wedding was proof that opposites attracted. Ten years ago, I didn’t know we would have to overcome that. Two opposites may attract but they won’t last in a home when one is squeaky clean and craves attention and the other drags bloody deer into the house and needs alone time in the woods.

We didn’t know babies would leave us emotionally drained at the end of the day. We didn’t know marriage becomes routine. We didn’t know each other enough to know what each other needed.

Like any good couple, we also mastered the art of fighting. I know exactly what to say to send his blood pressure out the roof. He knows nothing will bother me more than his silent treatments.

But…

we always come back to each other, like magnets. Our wedding day did prove that opposites attract.

The beauty of ten years is we know each other more than anyone else. We know what we like on our sandwiches without asking each other. We read each other’s body language when we’re in a group of people. Scott encourages me to write even if it is about him because he knows my mind questions if I’m any good at it. I live in a home with trophy deer on the walls because they represent Scott’s years of hard work, alone in the woods.

Scott knows 3,652 days ago, I would have never agreed to a 5-day fishing trip in the Dominican Republic. I found a new love with Scott. It’s fishing. You could even say this new love saved Scott and me because I guess, like fishing, you don’t realize what you have until you fight to get it.

Then you yell, “I LOVE YOU TOO!”and smile for the cameras.

I love you, Scott. And my marlin will be bigger than your marlin.

wedding

Two days until certain death.

Saturday, July 12, 2014. 10 AM, CST.

May Scott and I rest in peace.

I can’t live in Kansas City and not ride the world’s tallest water slide. It’s true – world’s tallest. They have pushed back the opening date of the slide for safety adjustments. It’s open, running and ready to send us flying to our watery death. Or maybe smacked into a tree. I need to check out the terrain.

It’s called the Verruckt. I have no idea how to pronounce it but they say it means “insane” in German.

Oh shit.

Oh crap in my pants.

A 168 feet, 7 inch drop. And at what foot marker do bikini tops go flying off?

Insane? I’ve been called worse. What’s German for “you-crazy-ass-voodoo-practicing-witch-I-haven’t-shot-my-deer-yet.”

Scott doesn’t want to do this. He’s not insane. He offered to stay with the kids at the bottom like a responsible adult.  ‘Til death do us part, SCOTT. We’re going together covered in each other’s pee. A couple friends have offered to sit at the pool bar and “cheers” us down. I hope in their drunken stupor they can catch my bikini top. It’s like the bouquet at a wedding. Who’s going to die next?

We’re totally filming this with our Go Pro camera.

Meet us there. Who’s IN?

 

This is probably my last blog post. Our will is on the bedside table.

I love you all.

 

What is the craziest thing you have ever done? It’s not the craziest thing I’ve done but it’s up there – WAY up there. Would you ride the Verruckt? 

photo-29 blog

I trust you with my iPhone while I’m gone.

I will not be posting a Monday post next week.

I’ll be floating on a noodle off the Florida Keys with a cocktail in hand. Or I will be in a boat putting up the big fight against a trophy Mahi. The fishing reports are excellent.

I trust you guys to watch over my blog until I get back. Make yourself at home. Snoop around. Oh, here. These should keep you entertained – my iPhone pictures. Have fun!

 

I think Siri does autocorrects. She's a funny one.

I think Siri is behind the autocorrects. She’s a funny one.

 

Tina is on the short list.

Tina is on the short list.

 

The funniest thing about this picture is I was holding a treat because the dogs wouldn't smile for my picture. I put the treat away after I got my shot.

The funniest thing about this picture is I was holding a treat because the dogs wouldn’t smile for my picture. I put the treat away after I got my shot.

 

Oh, hey. How did that get there?

Oh, hey. How did that get there?

 

I don't live a glamorous life.

I don’t live a glamorous life.

 

This is a real thing.

This is a real camping thing.

 

How sweet. A Mother's Day card.

How sweet. A Mother’s Day card.

 

She knows her mother too well.

The fine print never lies.

 

That's funny. They printed it upside down!

That’s funny. They printed it upside down.

 

Ok! Ok! I'll stop the trash talk. Geez.

Ok! Ok! I’ll stop the trash talk. I start twitching when football season gets close.

 

Do I really have a wild look to me?

Do I really have a wild Indian look to me?

 

That adorable niece of mine.

That adorable niece of mine.

 

He's so cool.

He’s so cool.

 

Please invite me to your White Elephant Christmas party. Please.

Please invite me to your White Elephant Christmas party. Please.

 

Why take a car when you can take a lawn mower down city streets?

Why take a car when you can take a lawn mower down the ‘hood streets?

 

One of my biggest parenting decisions is to introduce Emma to her own iPod with text messaging.

One of my biggest parenting mistakes is giving Emma her own iPod with text messaging.

 

Sometimes Pinterest pins tell it the best.

Sometimes Pinterest tells it best.

 

Belle

Babies can sense danger.

 

Too old

I’m still too old for Bachelorette parties.

 

What would YOU do?

I mean, what would YOU do?

 

 

Solo parenting.

The thing with being married to Scott is he is not home often.

Scott has a job that requires a lot of travel. I can’t complain. He is good at what he does.

He also has a pretend job, called I-think-I’m-single-and-have-no-kids-so-I’m-going-to-sit-in-a-treestand-all-day. Some would call hunting and fishing a hobby. This is not Scott’s hobby. Scott is a full-time professional hunter and fisherman. He’s just not paid for it.

These two full time jobs leave me alone with the kids a lot. Solo parenting is a lot of work. It’s not fun.

Oh, but sometimes it is. 

8s1yb

Hey did you guys know you can make your own gifs?

8taw0

 

The only time Scott is needed is the 6 pm to bedtime time slot. I get the kids fed. I entertain them. I break up fights. I pull my hair out. I help them with homework. I give them baths. I growl at the words “cold lunch.” Teeth are brushed and flossed.

Those kids are in bed by 7:50 pm when I’m solo parenting. There’s no daddy around to rile them up. It’s time to unwind with mommy and classical music with a touch of lavender. The sun hasn’t even set by the time they’re asleep.

8swbr

And once the kids are down, I’m a free woman. No husband. No kids.

8sw73

 

It’s the one part of the day that I get to be me. Whoever that is. There are no interruptions. I fall asleep my way – the bedroom lights are on, books are tabbed and tossed on the bed, the laptop is open and playing movie scores, an empty ice cream cup is within my arm’s length. My favorite part is I don’t have to kick legs back over to his side.

I mean, ok. Yeah. Scott is missed. He’s not here to talk to. He’s not here to make the girls and me laugh. I miss him rubbing my back in bed, hoping to get some. He won’t. Not unless he can get this cork out of this bottle of wine for me.
8swhz

Oh! Got it. Too bad you’re gone, Scott. Totally would have got some.

8sws1