Archive for the ‘Friends’ Category

A Game- February 10, 2016

Wednesday, February 10th, 2016

Monday I was sad my team lost so I told myself it was just a game. A football game. Our nation’s largest millionaires slam into each other causing possible irreparable brain damage. It’s America showing some of our most indulgent and barbaric behavior.

It is, but it’s not. It means more.

I was surprised at how genuinely sad I was that our Carolina Panthers lost Super Bowl 50 to the Denver Broncos Sunday night. I didn’t cry, that’s stupid, but there was some sulking and eating my feelings.

The story of this year’s Super Bowl goes deeper for us. See, we have a group of friends that make up our Fantasy Football league. We are six married couples. We became close friends after four couples (including us) were neighbors for several years. We all share a mutual love of crass humor and loud laughs. We have hosted the Super Bowl for several years. Last year was a fiasco as we inadvertently poisoned our friends with my brilliant “Build Your Own Nachos” bar idea. The source of everyone barfing the next day was either baby diaper fecal contamination or the more likely source, a virus. Our friends were able to joke about this through the year, thankfully. Two Fantasy team names were “Super Bowl Upchuck” and my team “Tainted Queso.”

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This year we had to have everyone back, even with the poisoning. You see, this was our Super Bowl. I’ve been a Carolina Panthers fan since the team came to our state when I was a teen. My husband grew up outside of Denver, following the Broncos’ every heartbreaking Super Bowl loss with a framed and signed John Elway jersey on his wall. That was before he got to do highlights of his team winning the big game his first year as a sportscaster. Years later, he would marry me and live in North Carolina. He happily adopted the Panthers as his NFC team, and I embraced the Broncos as my AFC team. Oh, I can’t forget a key part of this. My husband graduated from Auburn University. We all know Panthers quarterback Cam Newton is a Heisman winning Auburn alumni.

Truly our Super Bowl.

We promised our friends we would just buy food and not cook anything. We pleaded with them to give us another chance after the poisoning. They shared our excitement for “our Super Bowl” and packed our living room with smiling faces wearing Panthers blue. My husband wore his Broncos jersey under his Panthers jersey. He was in enemy territory, after all.

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The kids cheered and begged for Panthers noses and whiskers. I gave my son’s old infant Newton jersey to our friend’s new baby to wear for the game. We took turns snuggling him between wrangling children. Like all Americans we shared beer and wings while scratching our heads over Mountain Dew’s “Puppy, Baby, Monkey” commercial. We awarded this year’s Fantasy champ our league’s trophy. It’s a bra with tassel pasties on a box spray painted gold. True story. Our friends left and my husband comforted me, promising our young team would be back in a few years. I know he’s right.

kids super bowl

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Wednesday we got a box at the door. My father-in-law sent my husband a championship hat and t-shirt. He kindly didn’t send youth sizes to my children. I appreciate that. The sting is still there. I really thought the Panthers would win.

Grey Super Bowl

As silly as I feel being upset about this game, I feel I’m justified. This wasn’t just a game. It was our teams in the Super Bowl. I guess I’m also saying it’s never just football.

It’s seeing my husband feel like he can’t lose.

It’s dressing up my kids who can’t wait to see their friends in the same colors.

It’s forgiving friends willing to laugh with us.

It’s a father surprising his son with a thoughtful gift.

I don’t care if football is America’s guilty pleasure. It’s more than just a game.

 

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Only Moms Find This Funny- November 3, 2015

Tuesday, November 3rd, 2015

Last week at our friends’ house our daughter decided to drag out their daughter’s startlingly large toy that you can’t miss if you visit their home. It’s a Minnie Mouse bigger than the children that has become a source of jokes for the adults. The jokes got real when Minnie had a rip in her signature white bloomers in a highly undignified, un-Disneylike place. The husband said to the wife, “Did you ever sew up her crotch rip?” She assured us Minnie was repaired. That’s when she and I let the comical lines…well, rip.

“Minnie got ripped a new one when she delivered that litter of mice.”

“3rd degree perineal tear.”

“Stiz baths for like, 2 weeks.”

“She had to send Mickey to the specialty pharmacy for perineal ice packs.”

No child understood these jokes. No husband thought they were as funny as we did. After stitched up lady parts or a belly that’s been stapled together, different things become funny. Mama humor at its finest.

Minnie

 

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Breast Friends- April 29, 2014

Tuesday, April 29th, 2014

You know how when you get with old friends to celebrate something and weird stuff happens? Like, oh, I dunno, a wedding of a friend and your other drunk friend comes home and drinks your breast milk?

From the bottle! Come on people!

This picture shows one of my BFF’s who’s  been my friend since before “BFF” was a thing. Yeah, Sara is drinking the milk I expressed for my baby. She begged me to put this picture on Facebook. I told her drunk ass this picture would need blog explanation before hitting the judgmental eyes of everyone we’ve ever known. So of course I put it on Instagram and Twitter because that’s so much better and less judgy. ::snort::

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Her reaction was, “It doesn’t really taste like anything!” You must read that quote in Sara’s voice. She has an Ellie Mae southern twang in the voice of a 4-year-old. Remember, she was hammered so be sure to read it not just high-pitched and childish, but also drunkish. I’ll write it again, “It doesn’t really taste like anything!” There, did you hear Sara say it?

I disagree with her. I think it tastes sweet and mild, exactly what a baby would want. I heard breast milk might help a hangover. She gulped it down. People’s comments were awesome! Some of them know Sara.

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This led me to think of all the other times I have tasted my own breast milk. All the other times? It’s pretty much an everyday occurrence. I don’t think it’s that weird. I have to make sure it’s not spoiled or make sure something I ate doesn’t make it taste weird. Even though I’m with him all the time  now that I am staying home, I still pump at least once a day. I make a lot of milk. I freeze a lot of it. If it’s thawed, I need to make sure it tastes okay. I will admit it got a little weird one time when I was out of regular milk and I had to put breast milk in our mac and cheese. No one in my family was the wiser. It should make them wonder what other recipes my milk may end up in. Bwa ha ha ha!

So, is it weird that she tasted it? Yeah, a little. But, if there is anything that lactating made me realize, it’s that a female cow had to have a baby to produce hormones that would cause her to lactate. That’s when a farmer somewhere hooked up a pump to her to express her milk and we drink it everyday. That cow is a total stranger. Sara and I are best friends. The moral of the story? Share some of the best from your breastie with your bestie.

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Penis Parties- April 7, 2014

Monday, April 7th, 2014

This weekend one of my best friends loaded her luggage in my Jeep and we took a road trip to the beach for the first time in awhile. Sara and I were off to celebrate another long-time bestie, Colleen. After a string of jerks  Colleen found Thomas. I knew when I met him that he was one. I was very fortunate to be able to go to the party since my aunt and uncle live a mile off the island. I was five minutes away from Henry if he needed me. It was the first night I spent away from my little 5-month-old.

photo (91)Kissing the bride.

Of the girls in our grade in the sorority, I was one of the first to get married. Let me assure you, I didn’t plan for it to be that way. Before I met Greyson I was convinced I wouldn’t get married until my 30’s. Love changes the best laid plans. It’s hard to believe it will be nine years this month. Colleen is one of the last to get married. We laugh about the differences between planning a wedding at 23 (me) and at 32 (her). For example, Colleen bought her own awesome Jimmy Choos to wear down the aisle because she makes her own money and she can. I didn’t ask my parents for Jimmy Choos since I was only two years out of college, poor and counting on them to pay for everything. I wouldn’t change anything, but don’t tell my parents or my husband that I do envy the maturity of Colleen’s wedding.

This is the only photographic evidence of my bachelorette party that I will share. It is edited to protect your fragile eyes. Yes, it is a blinking penis necklace.

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My party consisted of dinner, then a game of “Pin The Penis On The Hunk” and so many shots. So. Many. As each friend walked down the aisle, there was some ridiculous celebration or another. One girl wore a “Suck for a Buck” t-shirt covered in Lifesavers. For another friend we hid paper hearts with guys in bars and the bride had to go up to them and ask if they “had a heart on.” Some cowboy beefcake stripper boarded the party bus for my sister. The stories go on and on. All of these were during my twenties.

This weekend we had the privilege of staying at a family friend’s beautiful island mansion. We strolled on the dock, went out to a nice dinner and stopped at one bar. It wasn’t crowded. We danced for a bit, had a few drinks and were back at the house by 11:45. There was only one penis thing. A penis cake. This one had fondant and was baked by an actual chef. We laughed, remembering ten years ago when we bought some Betty Crocker mix and baked penis cakes for another friend.

I looked at Colleen’s happy face and realized this is so much better. We were silly college girls, then funny twenty-somethings and now we’re experienced. We’re wives, divorcees, mothers, professionals and still friends.

I looked at the cake and thought about that stupid blinking necklace and said, “You know, my relationship with the penis has changed now that I wipe a tiny one all the time.” The passage of time, penis by penis.

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Be my Valentine? February 10, 2013

Sunday, February 10th, 2013

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This was the year that I fell in love with Valentine’s Day.  That’s me circa 1989 in my 3rd grade yearbook.  Well, I guess it would have been 1990 by February.  Don’t hate on my awesomeness.  I couldn’t help it that I was so cool.  I mean, I  just had my ears pierced.  Thankfully I grew into those teeth.

My classmates and I stapled together two paper plates and taped them to the front of our desks to make little mailboxes.  I thought mine turned out pretty good with my name in marker and pink and red hearts.  To the envy of my girlfriends I added an extra flair with polka-dots.

The rule was you had to bring a valentine for everyone in the class.  We counted up our little cards.  Many had the smiling faces of Scooby Doo or Ghostbusters.  The kid with the lollipops attached to his cards got extra kudos from the 3rd grade crowd.  My friend Erica brought the house down with New Kids On The Block valentines.  I mean, they had a song called “Valentine Girl.”  It was only fitting.

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I found an extra card between my paper plates.  I was delighted to open a Garfield valentine.  When I turned it over my stomach did this flutter thing I hadn’t felt before.  The card wasn’t signed.  It had nothing but a heart drawn in pencil with an arrow through it.  There were a few eraser marks, as if someone had taken great care drawing it.  I double checked the name on the envelope.  Yep, it was my name.

I looked around before asking my teacher, Miss Crabtree, to find out who was the admirer with the Garfield valentines.  When Miss Crabree held up my card and asked who gave them out, Josh looked sheepish and said, “I did.”  He caught my eye and we smiled.  I looked away and my stomach did that thing again.

Josh was the cutest boy in the class and he sent ME a secret admirer valentine.  My little life at that moment was complete.  Little did I know, that card would start an on and off again elementary school love affair that would continue for the rest of third grade.

I got that same flutter when my husband gave me a Godiva satin heart on Valentine’s Day 2004 when we were dating.  He promised to fill it up with truffles every year for the rest of our lives.

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I made these valentines for Charlotte’s class celebration this week.  This is the first Valentine’s exchange she has ever done.  I hope the start of this little tradition in her childhood one day leads to paper plate mailboxes and pencil-drawn hearts from admirers.

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