Ever since my bourbon induced verbal bulimic episode my friend has nicknamed me the MOBster. I’m not sure if she was referring to the scary, hairy beasts that hide under your bed and jump out of you closet. Or if she was thinking more along the lines of heat packing guys from Jersey in exquisite tailored suits hanging out at the sleazy Bada Bing. I prefer fashion over horror so I’m going with the mafia theme on this nickname. Maybe I’ll find a pin striped dress to wear to the wedding as a simple reminder to Stretch what I can become if he upsets me again. Just kidding, that would never make it past Kyky’s list of appropriate clothing for me.
Plus MOBsters are known for keeping things on the down low. I can totally lay low and act inconspicuous. Stretch knew I wasn’t holding some crazy vendetta against him. We had made up and were on the take together for this upcoming sting.
A few weeks after asking permission to snatch my daughter’s heart, Stretch showed up with the goods. The block of ice that would adorn Kyky’s hand as a symbol of commitment for life. I approved. It was big. It was worthy of her finger.
While she would sleep just feet away from us, we would plan the wedding, the engagement, the honeymoon. Would it be Vegas and the Elvis impersonator? A cruise or a sandy beach? What should the song for the first dance be? We made all sorts of plans behind her back. She never caught on.
Stretch came up with the proposal alone. He let the romantic side of him slip from the shadows for a second. The plan was set but he needed my help with the actual drop. Stretch had arranged the location for the disposal of the bling. Their love for baseball made the choice easy. The holding location was a suite at the Bees game. (Okay, so the beer patio at Fenway would be the real dream, but we live in Utah. ) My job was to get Kyky there on time and completely oblivious of the situation. Oh, and to keep the secret for six weeks. He made me promise not to tell a soul. I almost didn’t snitch. I told my two gals that wouldn’t rat me out. It was too big of a secret to keep.
The original plan of a simple kiss cam engagement got whacked by the higher ups at Franklin Covey Field. It was too simple. They wanted a show; Stretch was going to propose on the field in front of the entire crowd.
The suite was overflowing with our families. That should have been Ky’s first clue that something was up. I had my crew of girls in the bleachers -- armed with multiple cameras and camcorders to capture the moment. Stretch had his guy casing the banks of the outfield to capture the announcement on the scoreboard. Two more hints to set Ky off to the plan. Nope, she was still clueless.
Stretch was sweating bullets and drinking draft after draft to keep his nerves hidden. Big D was snapping pics. I kept Ky detained in the suite until it was time.
Eighth inning, the fix was in. Down they went to the field to compete in the dizzy bat race. It was fixed. Ky would spin faster and make it to third base before Stretch. All an elaborate plan so that while she was running, Stretch could run just enough behind her to finish second, get down on one knee and open the little velvet box as Ky will you marry me flashed on the big screen.
Stretch pulled it off without a hitch. Ky was shocked. Not because she cheated and the crowd booed her for winning. Not because the 3rd baseman told her to look at the screen with her name in lights. But because she had no idea that Stretch was going to propose that night, in one of their favorite places, in front of all their friends and family. None of the many coincidences clued her into the surprise. They kissed in front of the entire stadium of clapping, congratulatory fans. They were happy. My sister cried, my niece cheered, and my mom yelled at me for not spilling the beans! It was a good night.
Stretch hit a home run. He gave his girl a diamond, on a diamond. It couldn’t have happened at better place for this couple. Plus, BONUS it was Thirsty Thursday, Mama got beer for half price!
Showing posts with label Mother of the Bride. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mother of the Bride. Show all posts
Friday, October 2, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
The Bride Still Needs her Mommy
I hate how addicted and tied I am to technology. I feel like my cell phone has been an extension of my body for the last 16 years. Yes . . . I had an original brick phone. I had to carry a huge purse just to accommodate its size. I’m sure I’ll end up with some sort of brain cancer that is linked to the radio waves from holding a phone so close to my ear for decades. I sleep with it. It is more intimate with me than any man . . . meaning I let it spend the night.
I hate my new phone. First it didn’t let me transfer any of my contacts from my last phone. No SIM card. Verizon couldn’t get their thingamagig to work. Unless I wanted to manually enter everything I was out of luck. I’m too lazy for that! I just turn on the old phone and use it as a rolodex. Second, the battery SUCKS!!! One little warning and five minutes later the phone is dead. No warning. No time to find your car charger. What kind of stupid phone doesn’t allow for a time crunch? What if I left my phone and wall charger at home? Am I supposed to suffer without being accessible? What if someone needs me?
Well, it happened. Tonight on my way to dinner the single beep warning with the low battery warning flashed. My car charger was in my carry on from the weekend. My wall charger, it’s in bed of course, because that is where my phone lives and revitalizes at night. It’s just a quick business dinner. What can happen in a couple of hours? Well, my sister is pregnant and due at any minute, but my fam knows I’m with Kel, they will call her phone if there is an emergency.
Dinner and wine with a creepy sales rep. I am doing a favor for Kel. She knew him twenty-five years ago. He found her on Facebook. What was I to do but agree to meet him? Plus he flew into town for the meeting.
The 911 please call me text was left unanswered.
I didn’t know I had five missed calls.
Ky was smart enough to call Kel on her cell. She knew we were together. How was she to know Kel was sitting on her phone? Cell phone etiquette, she had it set to vibrate. For most this wouldn’t be a problem. For most, sitting on a vibrating phone would be a pleasurable thing. Problem is, my best friend Kel has no feeling below her breasts! The wheelchair might have felt the multiple shakes for help, but not us.
It wasn’t until I got home and plugged in my phone that I heard the calls for help.
“Mom, please call me.”
“911, answer please!”
“I’m in the ER”
Panic hit. Who is in the ER? Is my sis having Little L? Has The GOB passed out? Is Stretch getting yet another set of stitches? What is going on?
I called and got a quiet yet sad little voice. Kyky said she gashed her leg open but they were getting ready to stitch her up.
My baby’s first stitches. Twenty years and I have never taken her to the ER. My phone was dead! I am the worst mom ever.
“Don’t come, Stretch is with me. I’m OK.”
F*u!@ THAT I’m on my way!!!!
I’m not sure who was happier to see me. The fiancé’ who was tired and not sure what the hell he was supposed to be doing. Or my baby who was sheltering her face from the sewing of her flesh from behind her token hoodie. Either way, they both needed me and it felt morbidly wrong. I didn’t care that they needed the $100 co-pay, the insurance papers filled out or the hands held. I was there and they needed me.
We all survived the stitches. Stretch escaped in the parking lot. I got to drive her home. Stop to get her dinner. Bring her drugs, elevate her leg and assure her that it didn’t look that bad. I reminded her that she thought Tea length dresses were dorky and that they were the only ones that would show the scar. I was needed.
She finished her burger and I reassured her that Maderma would erase the night, and then she asked me to wash the blood off her foot. I ran to the bathroom to ready a warm cloth. As she sat on the dining room chair eating curly fries, I washed the blood from her leg and in between her toes. I asked, “Do you feel like Jesus?” She gave me a look like WTF are you talking about? I was thinking about my little niece getting her feet washed by her Catholic School teacher on Ash Wednesday. Suddenly I remembered the lesson and laughed. Oh yeah, Jesus washed the feet. That means I’m Jesus!
We both went to bed happy, sore and sad that technology failed us, but happy that the night ended together. OMG, I am the Mother of the Bride, and she still needs me!
I hate my new phone. First it didn’t let me transfer any of my contacts from my last phone. No SIM card. Verizon couldn’t get their thingamagig to work. Unless I wanted to manually enter everything I was out of luck. I’m too lazy for that! I just turn on the old phone and use it as a rolodex. Second, the battery SUCKS!!! One little warning and five minutes later the phone is dead. No warning. No time to find your car charger. What kind of stupid phone doesn’t allow for a time crunch? What if I left my phone and wall charger at home? Am I supposed to suffer without being accessible? What if someone needs me?
Well, it happened. Tonight on my way to dinner the single beep warning with the low battery warning flashed. My car charger was in my carry on from the weekend. My wall charger, it’s in bed of course, because that is where my phone lives and revitalizes at night. It’s just a quick business dinner. What can happen in a couple of hours? Well, my sister is pregnant and due at any minute, but my fam knows I’m with Kel, they will call her phone if there is an emergency.
Dinner and wine with a creepy sales rep. I am doing a favor for Kel. She knew him twenty-five years ago. He found her on Facebook. What was I to do but agree to meet him? Plus he flew into town for the meeting.
The 911 please call me text was left unanswered.
I didn’t know I had five missed calls.
Ky was smart enough to call Kel on her cell. She knew we were together. How was she to know Kel was sitting on her phone? Cell phone etiquette, she had it set to vibrate. For most this wouldn’t be a problem. For most, sitting on a vibrating phone would be a pleasurable thing. Problem is, my best friend Kel has no feeling below her breasts! The wheelchair might have felt the multiple shakes for help, but not us.
It wasn’t until I got home and plugged in my phone that I heard the calls for help.
“Mom, please call me.”
“911, answer please!”
“I’m in the ER”
Panic hit. Who is in the ER? Is my sis having Little L? Has The GOB passed out? Is Stretch getting yet another set of stitches? What is going on?
I called and got a quiet yet sad little voice. Kyky said she gashed her leg open but they were getting ready to stitch her up.
My baby’s first stitches. Twenty years and I have never taken her to the ER. My phone was dead! I am the worst mom ever.
“Don’t come, Stretch is with me. I’m OK.”
F*u!@ THAT I’m on my way!!!!
I’m not sure who was happier to see me. The fiancé’ who was tired and not sure what the hell he was supposed to be doing. Or my baby who was sheltering her face from the sewing of her flesh from behind her token hoodie. Either way, they both needed me and it felt morbidly wrong. I didn’t care that they needed the $100 co-pay, the insurance papers filled out or the hands held. I was there and they needed me.
We all survived the stitches. Stretch escaped in the parking lot. I got to drive her home. Stop to get her dinner. Bring her drugs, elevate her leg and assure her that it didn’t look that bad. I reminded her that she thought Tea length dresses were dorky and that they were the only ones that would show the scar. I was needed.
She finished her burger and I reassured her that Maderma would erase the night, and then she asked me to wash the blood off her foot. I ran to the bathroom to ready a warm cloth. As she sat on the dining room chair eating curly fries, I washed the blood from her leg and in between her toes. I asked, “Do you feel like Jesus?” She gave me a look like WTF are you talking about? I was thinking about my little niece getting her feet washed by her Catholic School teacher on Ash Wednesday. Suddenly I remembered the lesson and laughed. Oh yeah, Jesus washed the feet. That means I’m Jesus!
We both went to bed happy, sore and sad that technology failed us, but happy that the night ended together. OMG, I am the Mother of the Bride, and she still needs me!
Monday, August 17, 2009
Can a MOB be a MILF?
I've always loved the idea of being a MILF. I want to be Stickler's mom. So does that mean I need to get a reception center with a pool table? My daughter didn't go to band camp, but I definitely had trampoline camp happening outside my bedroom window. Being only 19 years older than Kyky's friends it has been kind of easy. The idea of doing it with a Cougar is trendy and I'm an easy target. Actually, I'm not a Cougar yet, I consider myself a little Bobcat because my elbows haven't started to dimple and I'm not 40. The fact that I sell sex toys males me a little more intriguing.
I don't have a date, so is it inappropriate to start choosing the line based on age and sexuality, or sexual preference? I'm not allowed to play with Kyky's friends because the hottest one hit on me once... or twice.
I have this not-so-understated apron that I wear with some special black and white stilettos that I sometimes think might be a fun MILF outfit. Kyky would die to know that the apron we made at "quilt night" might be one of my fancy "outfits" for a date with her schoolmates. I'd let him wear his Letterman's jacket. Is this wrong? Oh, I so lied right there, but that's what fantasies are all about, right?
Don't deny it. . . all of you have thought of those inappropriate thoughts of your child's cute high school buddies. Of course I'm talking about once they hit the golden, legal age of 18. I live in Utah so I just have to wait til they are 16. However, I like a boy who can buy me booze, so I prefer to wait til they are 21, because we all know, Mama needs a bar!
I was at my girlfriend's son's wedding... she's the MOG (Mama of of the Groom) recently, and her son's friend, Little Danny asked her where she was going after the wedding. She politely replied, "There's a shuttle." That's why why we need on-site rooms.
One vote for Snowbird! Because my reply would have been, here's my room key.
Does that make me an easy Cougar? Or just a Bobcat on a moratorium waiting to be sprung from the vault?
Love,
MOB
I don't have a date, so is it inappropriate to start choosing the line based on age and sexuality, or sexual preference? I'm not allowed to play with Kyky's friends because the hottest one hit on me once... or twice.
I have this not-so-understated apron that I wear with some special black and white stilettos that I sometimes think might be a fun MILF outfit. Kyky would die to know that the apron we made at "quilt night" might be one of my fancy "outfits" for a date with her schoolmates. I'd let him wear his Letterman's jacket. Is this wrong? Oh, I so lied right there, but that's what fantasies are all about, right?
Don't deny it. . . all of you have thought of those inappropriate thoughts of your child's cute high school buddies. Of course I'm talking about once they hit the golden, legal age of 18. I live in Utah so I just have to wait til they are 16. However, I like a boy who can buy me booze, so I prefer to wait til they are 21, because we all know, Mama needs a bar!
I was at my girlfriend's son's wedding... she's the MOG (Mama of of the Groom) recently, and her son's friend, Little Danny asked her where she was going after the wedding. She politely replied, "There's a shuttle." That's why why we need on-site rooms.
One vote for Snowbird! Because my reply would have been, here's my room key.
Does that make me an easy Cougar? Or just a Bobcat on a moratorium waiting to be sprung from the vault?
Love,
MOB
Sunday, August 16, 2009
From Receiving Blankets to Reception Centers
It was just over 20 years ago that I was a scared 18 year old trying to decide my future. What I thought was luck had finally ran out. The 4th pregnancy test came back positive. I was over four months along with only days to decide what to do.
After a lot of tears, writing and rewriting pros and cons lists until they tipped the scale to the side where I wanted them, fights with boyfriend, parents and friends, I started buying blankets. And binkys. And cute little clothes in unisex colors.
The luck I thought I was having in getting negative test results was luck indeed. Though at the time, the thought of being a single teenage mom scared the shit out of me, it is the best thing that ever happened. I know, how cliche', but unless you have lived through it, you can't mock me. Sure things were tough. I had to live with my mom in order to support my daughter the way I wanted. I preferred trips to Disneyland over my own mortgage. And I drove a beater car for years so that I could afford Challenger School and Nordstrom red cowboy boots for my two year old. My priorities were right for us.
So where has this lead me to 20 years later . . . to planning the biggest day in her life. Again, I am scared to death. My baby is growing up. She is planning her future and it doesn't include living with me. Is this selfish? Have I had enough time with her? She doesn't know how to cook! She should wait just for cooking lessons. Can he live on buttered noodles, cereal and tacos? Should I talk them out of it? Tell them they are too young? They need stable jobs and college degrees before signing a marriage certificate!
I remind myself . . . this is my daughter. She is the one who has been the mature one in our relationship. She is the one who knows what she is doing. She has been handling matters herself since she was 3 and someone tried to steal her stick horse during pre-school western days. Horrified, I watched through the one sided mirror as she lifted the boy by his bandana and regained custody of the pinto. I remind myself that she is stronger than I have ever been and that if he tries to steal her dreams she will deal with him in the same manner that she showed that little bully. Maybe not with a bandana, but I'm sure the effect will be the same.
I find myself thinking back to days of easier decisions. In 1989 you didn't know if you should buy pink or blue jammies so things were still generic for the unknown. There was some mystery and surprise left in life. Now I wish for an easy decision! Not so much when it comes to wedding plans. I know find my days filled with thoughts of reception centers. It is the first major decision to be made. Well after choosing the groom. She wants a mountain setting because she loves the fall and the colors of autumn. It needs to have indoor and outdoor locations. A beautiful aisle for her to walk down. And let's not forget the liquor license. Yes . . . mama needs a bar!
Wish me luck,
MOB
After a lot of tears, writing and rewriting pros and cons lists until they tipped the scale to the side where I wanted them, fights with boyfriend, parents and friends, I started buying blankets. And binkys. And cute little clothes in unisex colors.
The luck I thought I was having in getting negative test results was luck indeed. Though at the time, the thought of being a single teenage mom scared the shit out of me, it is the best thing that ever happened. I know, how cliche', but unless you have lived through it, you can't mock me. Sure things were tough. I had to live with my mom in order to support my daughter the way I wanted. I preferred trips to Disneyland over my own mortgage. And I drove a beater car for years so that I could afford Challenger School and Nordstrom red cowboy boots for my two year old. My priorities were right for us.
So where has this lead me to 20 years later . . . to planning the biggest day in her life. Again, I am scared to death. My baby is growing up. She is planning her future and it doesn't include living with me. Is this selfish? Have I had enough time with her? She doesn't know how to cook! She should wait just for cooking lessons. Can he live on buttered noodles, cereal and tacos? Should I talk them out of it? Tell them they are too young? They need stable jobs and college degrees before signing a marriage certificate!
I remind myself . . . this is my daughter. She is the one who has been the mature one in our relationship. She is the one who knows what she is doing. She has been handling matters herself since she was 3 and someone tried to steal her stick horse during pre-school western days. Horrified, I watched through the one sided mirror as she lifted the boy by his bandana and regained custody of the pinto. I remind myself that she is stronger than I have ever been and that if he tries to steal her dreams she will deal with him in the same manner that she showed that little bully. Maybe not with a bandana, but I'm sure the effect will be the same.
I find myself thinking back to days of easier decisions. In 1989 you didn't know if you should buy pink or blue jammies so things were still generic for the unknown. There was some mystery and surprise left in life. Now I wish for an easy decision! Not so much when it comes to wedding plans. I know find my days filled with thoughts of reception centers. It is the first major decision to be made. Well after choosing the groom. She wants a mountain setting because she loves the fall and the colors of autumn. It needs to have indoor and outdoor locations. A beautiful aisle for her to walk down. And let's not forget the liquor license. Yes . . . mama needs a bar!
Wish me luck,
MOB
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