I have heard that brides can be temperamental but I didn’t expect it to happen so early into the planning!
Ky, Stretch and I all made it through choosing the ceremony and reception center without a harsh word. We were all on the same page. Ky’s biggest concern is that the chairs are blue. Stretch's biggest concern is that he won’t have a decorated get-away car. Both can easily be fixed. Chaircovers.com will make everything match. No one needs to know that their get-away car is only going to drive from one lodge to the next! There will still be Oreos, window paint and a few blown up condoms on the antennae. Mike gets his traditional groomsman prank and Ky gets everything matchy matchy just like she likes it. A win win!
Next milestone, I caved, let Spermy pay half of the initial down payment for Snowbird. I didn’t want to be the one to cause the first scene. No matter how badly I wanted to handle it on my own! A 50/50 start.
Save the Date photos . . . Stretch wore red!!! And changed into different outfits. He is a good sport. He toted his backpack up and down the mountain with his cowboy boots so that he would match from head to toe. No complaints. He kissed and smiled for almost two hours.
Things are going smoothly.
I suggested a desk calendar for Save the Dates, a little less trendy than a magnet and more personal than today’s email notification. But Ky liked it!
The big calendar vote:
1: Utah Scenery
2: Famous Couples
3: Movie Couples
The winner by vote was Utah scenery, but we vetoed and decided on famous couples. Weddings are not really a democracy. We all know the bride makes the final decisions no matter the outcome of a vote.
Next step, the criteria to get a month:
1: You have an anniversary in that month
2: The photo is on their wedding day in wedding dress and tux
4: and it photo must be unique
Ky is busy. She is a full time nanny and a college student trying to plan a wedding. I have free time at night; I can find the couples and pictures. It took hours of Googling to find the perfect couples with an anniversary for each month. Elvis for Ky and Johnny and June for Stretch, the musical icons. Those were must haves. Princess Di, Jackie and JFK and The Obamas filled the class category. Nostalgia met with Marilyn Monroe and Lucy. And what is a wedding calendar without Elizabeth Taylor?
Then the trouble started.
I saw every Adam Sandler movie ever made because he was Ky’s favorite actor from a very early age. Happy Gilmore and Billy Madison are classics. The Wedding Singer felt like I was back in High School. Plus how can a movie with Billy Idol be bad? Then there were the real winners. Waterboy! A rere with a Cajun accent driving a lawnmower. Mr. Deeds and Little Nikki, need I say more? But Adam redeemed himself with 50 First Dates and Click. He kind of grew up. He was the guy I loved from Saturday Night Live again. He deserved and earned June! Bonus, his picture is funny.
The MTV generation needs Speidi in April! If we lived through all of their fake weddings we should get to celebrate the actual legal union. Plus her fake boobies with the bleached hair matched with his curly blond lockes and blinding pearly whites are worth looking at for thirty days.
I showed props to Prop 8, Ellen and Portia get August!
Ozzy and Sharon, music icons of today. Their picture is great; Ozzy is actually biting her, like a vamp. How Twilight of them!
I found the picture perfect couples for every month. Ran each one past Ky and got them ready to send to the designer.
I brought them home for the final bridal sign off. BIG MISTAKE!
Suddenly she started enforcing the dictatorship of a wedding. Vetoing many of my pictures and hours of hard work! The bride wanted all the couples to be classic. Meaning their original wedding photos should have been black and white without a click of a photo editing button. Adam, Ozzy, Ellen, and Speidi were all put into the recycle bin! But Will Smith survived the cut? I didn’t understand!
The first glimpse of my very own Bridezilla was showing. She insisted I start over on half of the year!
Doesn’t she understand how many hours I have worked on this?
Doesn’t she know how hard it was to find a famous couple for every month?
Then it happened. She said the words . . . THIS IS MY WEDDING. NOT YOURS.
I was arguing with the irrational two years old that wanted to run past her boundaries. With the sixth grader that wanted to wear flip flops during a blizzard. And with the Junior who thought a fellow male student could room with the girls on a High School field trip.
Would there be foot stomping? Crying? A full blown temper tantrum?
I have never spanked Ky. I grounded her once and regretted all thirty minutes of it. But today I seriously considered both. Can I throw her over my knee and inflict any pain? Can I steal her car keys and hold her hostage in the house?
No. She is bigger and stronger than me. Getting her over my knee would probably end with me in the ER. Grounding her to the house would only be punishing me. I would have to endure the wrath of the bridal bitch for hours until I finally pleaded with her to leave or vanquished myself to the basement.
How do I win this battle of the Save the Date Calendars? How else? With the wallet! It may be her wedding, but mama is paying.
In the end, we compromised. I gave a few months and so did she.
I would like to say that this was my intent on giving her a lesson on compromising to make things work. But no, it was a fight. A my idea is better than hers girl fight.
Can’t wait for dress shopping :)
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
I Think I was a Tricycle in a Past Life
I just got invited to go to lunch with my friend and her old boyfriend. I regretfully declined with the response that I didn’t want to be the third wheel.
Now I’m thinking about it. I’m ALWAYS the third wheel. Why would this lunch, dinner, or vacation be any different from every other relationship in my life?
For years Kyky and I vacationed with my best friend, her husband and two kids. I got along better with him anyway so I was sort of a distraction to their bad marriage. I acted as the buffer. I made things more fun for the kids. I stopped the bickering. Of course we would get the typical looks every time someone would ask where we were from. The answer of Utah would always get us a snicker. Nik and I often wanted to don long braided wigs and Gunnie Sax dresses so we could fit the poly stereotype. Instead we bought Otis a Polygamy Porter T-Shirt to wear.
One time we switched it up. It was Mickey’s Pride Days. This time Nik and I got to be the couple and we referred to Otis as donor while we waited in lines filled with same sex couples. He was very uncomfortable and retired to the House of Blues for the majority of the weekend.
Nik and Otis’s marriage finally came to an end. The years of vacationing as polygamists ended. Nik has since remarried and we have only gone on one weekend vacation with her new hubby. Don’t see that happening again. Otis became my boyfriend. Vacationing with him and the kids as the solo girl was not nearly as fun. I am a much better third wheel than girlfriend.
Even in High School I was the token third wheel. All my close friends had boyfriends. Not me. I never wanted the serious boyfriend. Instead, I would usually end up being the extra safeguard that parents liked being on their kids’ dates. In Utah extra wheels are encouraged. Group dates are the thing to do. The other extra wheels and I never felt out of place. Little did we realize we were the church’s way of implementing birth control.
After I had Kyky, I brought the third wheel. We took her everywhere. Ky gave us reason to go to the zoo and to Disney movies. No one cared that we had to have a high chair or go to early movies. They all took turns holding her or pushing the stroller.
Nowadays I hang out with my best friend Kel and her hubby JD. They nicely invite me to their private dinner dates. Time they get together is precious because of their work schedules but they never let me feel like I’m intruding, though I know I am. They include me so much they joke that I’m in their wills; whoever dies first has to leave the other complete custody of me. They even told their kids they had to move out of the basement so I could move in. That is true friendship!
Last night my friend Les and her hubby had me over for drinks and dinner. After a very long day at work I arrived to a waiting martini and the aroma of a homemade dinner was filling the house. Todd cooked and kept the glasses filled while we chatted and giggled.
I wonder if Kyky and Stretch will let me continue my tradition. They say that as soon as they can afford it, they will build a house with a mother-in-law apartment. I think it’s just because they want a cook and a dog sitter.
Maybe it will be time for me to try a two-wheeler. I’ve never been really good at two person relationships though. I guess I have a balancing problem. I have a hard time choosing where to focus my time and energy. Work? Home? Kid? Family? Partner? It always seems the partner gets put last on my list of priorities. Then again it is probably just as much a commitment problem. Like a kid trying to get rid of the training wheels – I can’t quite give up my freedom or admit I might actually want to be dependant on someone else.
I’m thinking I’m going to have to give it a try. I don’t want to be a newlywed tricycle. Awkward! No way in hell can I manage as a unicycle. I would end up a hermit on Prozac without friends and companionship of some sort. And we all know that my other room mate – the GOB – doesn’t offer much in the way of companionship. Maybe now that Ky is older and moving out on her own I’ll break my rules and have guys over to my house. Actually let them think I want them to be a part of my life. Silly how that might make a difference in giving a relationship a go!
Of course, anyone that wants a third wheel, give me a call! I make for a good threesome.
Now I’m thinking about it. I’m ALWAYS the third wheel. Why would this lunch, dinner, or vacation be any different from every other relationship in my life?
For years Kyky and I vacationed with my best friend, her husband and two kids. I got along better with him anyway so I was sort of a distraction to their bad marriage. I acted as the buffer. I made things more fun for the kids. I stopped the bickering. Of course we would get the typical looks every time someone would ask where we were from. The answer of Utah would always get us a snicker. Nik and I often wanted to don long braided wigs and Gunnie Sax dresses so we could fit the poly stereotype. Instead we bought Otis a Polygamy Porter T-Shirt to wear.
One time we switched it up. It was Mickey’s Pride Days. This time Nik and I got to be the couple and we referred to Otis as donor while we waited in lines filled with same sex couples. He was very uncomfortable and retired to the House of Blues for the majority of the weekend.
Nik and Otis’s marriage finally came to an end. The years of vacationing as polygamists ended. Nik has since remarried and we have only gone on one weekend vacation with her new hubby. Don’t see that happening again. Otis became my boyfriend. Vacationing with him and the kids as the solo girl was not nearly as fun. I am a much better third wheel than girlfriend.
Even in High School I was the token third wheel. All my close friends had boyfriends. Not me. I never wanted the serious boyfriend. Instead, I would usually end up being the extra safeguard that parents liked being on their kids’ dates. In Utah extra wheels are encouraged. Group dates are the thing to do. The other extra wheels and I never felt out of place. Little did we realize we were the church’s way of implementing birth control.
After I had Kyky, I brought the third wheel. We took her everywhere. Ky gave us reason to go to the zoo and to Disney movies. No one cared that we had to have a high chair or go to early movies. They all took turns holding her or pushing the stroller.
Nowadays I hang out with my best friend Kel and her hubby JD. They nicely invite me to their private dinner dates. Time they get together is precious because of their work schedules but they never let me feel like I’m intruding, though I know I am. They include me so much they joke that I’m in their wills; whoever dies first has to leave the other complete custody of me. They even told their kids they had to move out of the basement so I could move in. That is true friendship!
Last night my friend Les and her hubby had me over for drinks and dinner. After a very long day at work I arrived to a waiting martini and the aroma of a homemade dinner was filling the house. Todd cooked and kept the glasses filled while we chatted and giggled.
I wonder if Kyky and Stretch will let me continue my tradition. They say that as soon as they can afford it, they will build a house with a mother-in-law apartment. I think it’s just because they want a cook and a dog sitter.
Maybe it will be time for me to try a two-wheeler. I’ve never been really good at two person relationships though. I guess I have a balancing problem. I have a hard time choosing where to focus my time and energy. Work? Home? Kid? Family? Partner? It always seems the partner gets put last on my list of priorities. Then again it is probably just as much a commitment problem. Like a kid trying to get rid of the training wheels – I can’t quite give up my freedom or admit I might actually want to be dependant on someone else.
I’m thinking I’m going to have to give it a try. I don’t want to be a newlywed tricycle. Awkward! No way in hell can I manage as a unicycle. I would end up a hermit on Prozac without friends and companionship of some sort. And we all know that my other room mate – the GOB – doesn’t offer much in the way of companionship. Maybe now that Ky is older and moving out on her own I’ll break my rules and have guys over to my house. Actually let them think I want them to be a part of my life. Silly how that might make a difference in giving a relationship a go!
Of course, anyone that wants a third wheel, give me a call! I make for a good threesome.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Guilty Pleasure
Twenty plus years ago I wrote a letter to my x-boyfriend. The guy I thought was the love of my life. The one I followed to a university that I would have never otherwise attended. You know the one down south that costs more for those of us that don’t believe in their strange teachings. I followed my best friend because I loved him. One semester later I was leaving a note on the windshield of his parked Yugo. It told him that I didn’t care what his thoughts were on MY pregnancy. It was our baby, but I made the final decision. I wrote the letter telling him I didn’t care what he wanted or what he thought was best for him/us. I told him I could do it myself! Yes, just like I was two and wanted to put on my own shoes. I can do it myself. I don’t need you so go to hell. Yep, that was pretty much the message I left. I’m not sure that the windshield wiper of that Yugo was sturdy enough to hold onto the folded weight of my revolt. The coveted graduation gift of a car that everyone wishes their parents can afford. However, that Yugo was about $4000 brand new. The gas gage broke after a month. The driver’s seat had to be unbolted and moved back so that Spermy could maneuver his long legs behind the wheel. They even gave one away in a drawing at the local burger joint. Kind of like winning the daily lunch drawing over winning the lottery don’t you think? I was jealous of him then, I think he is jealous of me now. Silly me, jealous over a dorm and a Yugo? Who even remembers Yugos!? Poor him, jealous over missing out on his kid’s life.
Yep, I walked away from everything as did he. We went our own directions. I finished up the year down there in my maternity clothes. He worried about me spilling the beans and ending his turn on the Cougar volleyball hardwood floor. I passed my ecclesiastical interview being seven months pregnant and single. He turned down an opportunity to play ball at Pepperdine. He dated while I wore my great-grandmother’s wedding band on my left ring finger, keeping the faithful at bay. They assumed I was one of them -- getting an early start on my perfect little family. If they only knew the shameful truth, they probably would not have sat by me or offered me their lecture notes on the days I just couldn’t crawl out of bed and make the forty minute drive. I didn’t know what struggles he was facing and he didn’t know that I was trying to fit in doc appointments, work and finish school with passing grades. We split. Our once daily conversations during our commute were over. No one picked me up from work with a cold Diet Dr. Pepper. No one skipped Biology with me for a fall drive up Provo Canyon. No one scowled at me when I raised an objection during religion lectures. We went to class separately just like we were living our lives. We managed to avoid each other on that small campus. I fed cravings of fig newtons and chocolate covered raisins from the bookstore and he gorged at the cafeteria. I studied advertising, he focused on business. The only chance we might cross paths – on days when I was running late and couldn’t face the eight flights of stairs from the distant Y parking lot to my first class. On these days I would brave the elevator in the business building to carry me to the main level of campus. I feared we would run into each other while secretly hoping he would catch a glimpse of my growing belly. Would that make him come to his senses?
So, back to the letter . . . I can do it myself right?! I have, for over twenty years. It is strange to have him finally enter Ky’s life. He is trying to do whatever he can to help. I have to remind myself that he is making up for a lot. I am trying to let him because it makes her happy. I have to admit, the extra help is nice but I can’t help but remember what I said so long ago. I am stubborn just like I was when I wrote the letter. I needed to prove to myself, him and everyone else that I could survive and even strive as a single mom. I didn’t need him. I haven’t needed him. This makes me wonder, should I feel guilty when he hands Ky a $100 bill to help pay for books? He just told me about thousands of dollars in legal bills he has to pay. He has six kids for gods sake! Should I be angry and resentful that he wants to help pay for the wedding? If I let him help pay, does he get a say in her life? He didn’t help pay in the beginning. He didn’t get to help choose her name, what religion she followed or where she went to pre-school. Does he get to help in decisions now? Does taking his money give him a say in where she lives, if she finishes school or where she spends Thanksgiving?
NO! Ky is an adult. She makes her own decisions now. She appreciates my guidance and opinion but I am no longer the majority decision maker in her life. Nor is Spermy. Neither of us have a controlling interest no matter what we are providing her. We are both a support system now and I trust her to continue on the path that I started for her so many years ago. I didn’t choose the traditional path, it has been bumpy at times, but the hills and valleys are what have made our lives exciting.
It is all about sacrifices. I am mad at him for the fact that I had to go on WIC to pay for formula and milk. I went to county child services for Ky’s first year immunizations. What humiliations did he face? He continued life for years denying that he was even the father. Maybe he is facing those self imagined looks and snickers now. He finally told his other children about Ky. His neighbors ward members and friends know that he has another child. Did the humiliation catch up with him finally? Does life have a fair payback? I got to spend Ky’s entire life with her. Enjoy the first steps, first words, first dates. He missed that. Sure I was embarrassed to take help from WIC and get free diapers from the University. But I did it to survive. I did it to do it myself without Spermy’s help. Do I feel guilty for letting him give her money and support now? Am I guilty or angry that I am no longer doing it by myself? Screw it! I think I like him helping. I have an extra hundred dollars that I wasn’t expecting. Maybe Ky and I will go shopping for something frivolous with that money we were going to spend on books. Extra help with the wedding means open bar! Welcome back Spermy. It is a pleasure to accept your help now. Maybe I should have taken it years ago. No, I’m glad I was selfish and got Ky to myself. You deserved to wait for her, but I’m glad you’re back.
Yep, I walked away from everything as did he. We went our own directions. I finished up the year down there in my maternity clothes. He worried about me spilling the beans and ending his turn on the Cougar volleyball hardwood floor. I passed my ecclesiastical interview being seven months pregnant and single. He turned down an opportunity to play ball at Pepperdine. He dated while I wore my great-grandmother’s wedding band on my left ring finger, keeping the faithful at bay. They assumed I was one of them -- getting an early start on my perfect little family. If they only knew the shameful truth, they probably would not have sat by me or offered me their lecture notes on the days I just couldn’t crawl out of bed and make the forty minute drive. I didn’t know what struggles he was facing and he didn’t know that I was trying to fit in doc appointments, work and finish school with passing grades. We split. Our once daily conversations during our commute were over. No one picked me up from work with a cold Diet Dr. Pepper. No one skipped Biology with me for a fall drive up Provo Canyon. No one scowled at me when I raised an objection during religion lectures. We went to class separately just like we were living our lives. We managed to avoid each other on that small campus. I fed cravings of fig newtons and chocolate covered raisins from the bookstore and he gorged at the cafeteria. I studied advertising, he focused on business. The only chance we might cross paths – on days when I was running late and couldn’t face the eight flights of stairs from the distant Y parking lot to my first class. On these days I would brave the elevator in the business building to carry me to the main level of campus. I feared we would run into each other while secretly hoping he would catch a glimpse of my growing belly. Would that make him come to his senses?
So, back to the letter . . . I can do it myself right?! I have, for over twenty years. It is strange to have him finally enter Ky’s life. He is trying to do whatever he can to help. I have to remind myself that he is making up for a lot. I am trying to let him because it makes her happy. I have to admit, the extra help is nice but I can’t help but remember what I said so long ago. I am stubborn just like I was when I wrote the letter. I needed to prove to myself, him and everyone else that I could survive and even strive as a single mom. I didn’t need him. I haven’t needed him. This makes me wonder, should I feel guilty when he hands Ky a $100 bill to help pay for books? He just told me about thousands of dollars in legal bills he has to pay. He has six kids for gods sake! Should I be angry and resentful that he wants to help pay for the wedding? If I let him help pay, does he get a say in her life? He didn’t help pay in the beginning. He didn’t get to help choose her name, what religion she followed or where she went to pre-school. Does he get to help in decisions now? Does taking his money give him a say in where she lives, if she finishes school or where she spends Thanksgiving?
NO! Ky is an adult. She makes her own decisions now. She appreciates my guidance and opinion but I am no longer the majority decision maker in her life. Nor is Spermy. Neither of us have a controlling interest no matter what we are providing her. We are both a support system now and I trust her to continue on the path that I started for her so many years ago. I didn’t choose the traditional path, it has been bumpy at times, but the hills and valleys are what have made our lives exciting.
It is all about sacrifices. I am mad at him for the fact that I had to go on WIC to pay for formula and milk. I went to county child services for Ky’s first year immunizations. What humiliations did he face? He continued life for years denying that he was even the father. Maybe he is facing those self imagined looks and snickers now. He finally told his other children about Ky. His neighbors ward members and friends know that he has another child. Did the humiliation catch up with him finally? Does life have a fair payback? I got to spend Ky’s entire life with her. Enjoy the first steps, first words, first dates. He missed that. Sure I was embarrassed to take help from WIC and get free diapers from the University. But I did it to survive. I did it to do it myself without Spermy’s help. Do I feel guilty for letting him give her money and support now? Am I guilty or angry that I am no longer doing it by myself? Screw it! I think I like him helping. I have an extra hundred dollars that I wasn’t expecting. Maybe Ky and I will go shopping for something frivolous with that money we were going to spend on books. Extra help with the wedding means open bar! Welcome back Spermy. It is a pleasure to accept your help now. Maybe I should have taken it years ago. No, I’m glad I was selfish and got Ky to myself. You deserved to wait for her, but I’m glad you’re back.
Friday, October 2, 2009
A MOBster's Got to Know How to Keep Her Mouth Shut
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!
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!
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
May I See Your ID Please?
When I tell people that Ky isn’t getting married until next September their first reaction is to laugh. Is it because people in Utah don’t know how to wait that long to get married? Do they think that her hormonal urge to give up her virginity is going to move the wedding date up? That is why most engagements in Utah only last a couple of months. The poor little return missionaries return home with blue balls that need to be tended to. The normal Mormon wedding day is to get married at 7:30 in the morning. Run from the Temple to the nearest hotel, usually The Anniversary Inn, and ruin the bride’s up do. Then to show up to the reception, stand in the line, like nothing happened. Do they realize that people know her hair is different than it was earlier in the day? A little muffled? And that he is smiling more than normal? I can’t even imagine staying at The Anniversary Inn. First, because it is themed. Second, I can only imagine how many young return missionary Tarzans have swung from the vines in the jungle room to de-virginize their Jane. Or perhaps I should imagine how many Juliets have jumped from the balcony to jump their Romeo. No matter what scenario I come up with, all I can think of is how bright those mattresses must glow under black light.
My kid isn’t Mormon. I’m not saying that I know what is going on in her bedroom . . . but I know what was going on in mine when I was that age and I’m not thinking that is the reason she might move up the wedding date. I know for a fact that the earliest she would move the wedding date up would be late June. Why do I know this? She wants to party and she won’t turn 21 until June 15, 2010.
At least I thought I was safe with this reasoning until my friend got her the perfect fake ID. Ky has tried for a few years to get a coveted fake ID. But do you realize how hard it is to find another girl that is 6’0” tall and resembles you? She used to think she could get away with my little sis’s. The only problem is Colie is only 5’4”. That would never fly with a good bouncer – maybe only with one that was blind! I honestly thought I would be safe until Ky decided to cross dress as one of Kris’s smaller football players. I was hoping that her tall stature would finally work in my favor. Dammit, it owed me after all those hours of looking for prom dresses that were long enough! For finding pants that were not floods. Not to mention how I used to have to dry her cotton pants weighted down so they would stretch beyond their wanted length. Leave it to my friend Kris – the sports trainer who works with female athletes on a daily basis. Not only does she work with female athletes, she works at the University where they are all a little older than Ky. It took some time, but the perfect opportunity finally showed up on the softball team. At least Kris learned from her own experience and got the actual ID from her student rather than her birth certificate. That plan landed her in cuffs and the backseat of a cop car. She learned from her mistake and Ky benefits from her wisdom. Woo hoo!
Ky has tried out the new laminated toy a few times and it works beautifully. She, Kris and Stretch partied at the Top Gun bar in San Diego while I headed back to the hotel with the kiddos. I felt old. She drank beer at the bowling alley with Stretch – she should have felt old. Who hangs out at the bowling alley bar these days?! Worst of all, she got a beer band at the Brad Paisley concert, right after they put mine on! What is that Utah Department of Alcohol Beverage Control campaign? The one where the mom has a string attached to the beer bottle and reels her kid in like a big mouth bass? The bright yellow tags that are all over the liquor stores warning us against letting our underage kids drink? They obviously have not made an impression on me!
It’s true . . . I encourage or rather support her drinking habit. I buy her cheerleader beer, the beercicles, and all those other wine coolers of 2010. I am under the belief that if you are old enough to fight for our country and vote for our leader, you should be responsible enough to buy a beer. How can you encourage someone to vote for your future if you can’t entrust them to buy a cocktail? It is ridiculous. So yes, I buy my underage daughter booze. I let her drink at my house. I let her come to my parties. I don’t let her get out of control. I’m hoping that she is responsible and she is. The problem is I might not be!
At the concert, I was the one sneaking in the booze in my wine bra. Yes, a wine bra. The greatest flask ever invented. It is a simple booze bladder that hides inside of a regular sports bra. It has made many an airline flight, movie, and concert more enjoyable. Sometimes you need more than beer! Sometimes a movie needs something other than a $5 soda. Pirates of the Caribbean with a rum and coke – doesn’t that sound good? Sex in the City with a Cosmo? How Carrie! OK, those ice cold drinks were not the best idea! Thank you Mr. Leno for introducing me to this marvel. Plus it makes my boobs huge! I never have cleavage without a little wine rack.
Kel smuggled in a box of wine in her chair. The bag that is hidden inside of those boxes can easily be mistaken for a cath bag. Besides, who is going to question her?
The best smuggling had to be Jeffries. The tiny little hundred pound girl had not one, but two flasks shoved down her tight jeans just so she could enjoy an Appletini.
Not one of us got caught at security. We weren’t white trash. We weren’t being cheap. We just wanted our favorite drinks. OK, we were a little white trash.
Ky and her beer band got me a pale ale. It was sweet. I’m not going to lie. I liked staying on my blanket while she went on the beer run. Then suddenly the thought crossed my mind . . . she doesn’t have to wait until JUNE! How the hell am I going to pull this wedding bill off before then!?
Relax, have another beer mama. Remember, you put a deposit on Snowbird yesterday. She is stuck with September no matter how good her fake ID is.
My kid isn’t Mormon. I’m not saying that I know what is going on in her bedroom . . . but I know what was going on in mine when I was that age and I’m not thinking that is the reason she might move up the wedding date. I know for a fact that the earliest she would move the wedding date up would be late June. Why do I know this? She wants to party and she won’t turn 21 until June 15, 2010.
At least I thought I was safe with this reasoning until my friend got her the perfect fake ID. Ky has tried for a few years to get a coveted fake ID. But do you realize how hard it is to find another girl that is 6’0” tall and resembles you? She used to think she could get away with my little sis’s. The only problem is Colie is only 5’4”. That would never fly with a good bouncer – maybe only with one that was blind! I honestly thought I would be safe until Ky decided to cross dress as one of Kris’s smaller football players. I was hoping that her tall stature would finally work in my favor. Dammit, it owed me after all those hours of looking for prom dresses that were long enough! For finding pants that were not floods. Not to mention how I used to have to dry her cotton pants weighted down so they would stretch beyond their wanted length. Leave it to my friend Kris – the sports trainer who works with female athletes on a daily basis. Not only does she work with female athletes, she works at the University where they are all a little older than Ky. It took some time, but the perfect opportunity finally showed up on the softball team. At least Kris learned from her own experience and got the actual ID from her student rather than her birth certificate. That plan landed her in cuffs and the backseat of a cop car. She learned from her mistake and Ky benefits from her wisdom. Woo hoo!
Ky has tried out the new laminated toy a few times and it works beautifully. She, Kris and Stretch partied at the Top Gun bar in San Diego while I headed back to the hotel with the kiddos. I felt old. She drank beer at the bowling alley with Stretch – she should have felt old. Who hangs out at the bowling alley bar these days?! Worst of all, she got a beer band at the Brad Paisley concert, right after they put mine on! What is that Utah Department of Alcohol Beverage Control campaign? The one where the mom has a string attached to the beer bottle and reels her kid in like a big mouth bass? The bright yellow tags that are all over the liquor stores warning us against letting our underage kids drink? They obviously have not made an impression on me!
It’s true . . . I encourage or rather support her drinking habit. I buy her cheerleader beer, the beercicles, and all those other wine coolers of 2010. I am under the belief that if you are old enough to fight for our country and vote for our leader, you should be responsible enough to buy a beer. How can you encourage someone to vote for your future if you can’t entrust them to buy a cocktail? It is ridiculous. So yes, I buy my underage daughter booze. I let her drink at my house. I let her come to my parties. I don’t let her get out of control. I’m hoping that she is responsible and she is. The problem is I might not be!
At the concert, I was the one sneaking in the booze in my wine bra. Yes, a wine bra. The greatest flask ever invented. It is a simple booze bladder that hides inside of a regular sports bra. It has made many an airline flight, movie, and concert more enjoyable. Sometimes you need more than beer! Sometimes a movie needs something other than a $5 soda. Pirates of the Caribbean with a rum and coke – doesn’t that sound good? Sex in the City with a Cosmo? How Carrie! OK, those ice cold drinks were not the best idea! Thank you Mr. Leno for introducing me to this marvel. Plus it makes my boobs huge! I never have cleavage without a little wine rack.
Kel smuggled in a box of wine in her chair. The bag that is hidden inside of those boxes can easily be mistaken for a cath bag. Besides, who is going to question her?
The best smuggling had to be Jeffries. The tiny little hundred pound girl had not one, but two flasks shoved down her tight jeans just so she could enjoy an Appletini.
Not one of us got caught at security. We weren’t white trash. We weren’t being cheap. We just wanted our favorite drinks. OK, we were a little white trash.
Ky and her beer band got me a pale ale. It was sweet. I’m not going to lie. I liked staying on my blanket while she went on the beer run. Then suddenly the thought crossed my mind . . . she doesn’t have to wait until JUNE! How the hell am I going to pull this wedding bill off before then!?
Relax, have another beer mama. Remember, you put a deposit on Snowbird yesterday. She is stuck with September no matter how good her fake ID is.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Wait! Wait! There's Still Room on my Dance Card!
Ky read the last post and has made a special request for that dance montage. What would her young life have been without some of the crazies I dated! She rarely met any of them. I kept them hidden at their houses. Most didn't even know where I lived. I wasn't some hormonal raging slut that just snuck out to get some. I just didn't see the need of introducing her to everyone that I might go to dinner and a movie with. I was very protective of her when she was little. Now that she is old enough she has heard all the insane stories. Well, they might still be a little edited for her little ears.
Her first request was Stan the Mountain Man. I dated Stan when I was 20, he was 40 something. That drove my mother nuts to say the very least. Stan only cut his hair once a year and he never trimmed his mustache. He also believed bathing on a daily basis was not a necessity, just a waste of water. He donned tie dyed shirts, shorts and Birkenstock complete with wool socks. He really wished he had been born an Indian. He spent his weekends naked in sweat lodges with Medicine men, Indians with beautiful long hair, as well as other white wannabes. His favorite movie had to be Dances With Wolves. We had to go see it several times. Each time he would tell me the history of the Indians and the old west. I never reminded him that I did score a 5 on my American AP test and that I was thinking about majoring in History. I let him tell me about musket guns and scalping while we ate the pizza that he would smuggle in. You're thinking how classy right? It gets better! One day Stay showed up to work with a little leather pouch hanging from his neck. Yep, broke that golden rule of not sleeping where you work more than once! He was always doing strange things so it didn't really alarm me. Then at lunch he did it, he finally shocked me! Dinners on the floor drinking out of oyster shells didn't do it. Having him sweep smoke over me with an eagle feather didn't do it. Flesh hanging in a pouch around his neck did it! Over the weekend he had cleansed himself in the sweat lodge. Part of that cleansing was to remove the venom from yourself by cutting away a piece of your flesh then carrying it with you to remind you of your sins. My boyfriend had a piece of his own flesh around his neck as a piece of jewelry!
How about Bren. He was my pot smoking college boyfriend who asked me to marry him at the end of every date. We met because we were the two bored people at a New Year's Eve party. We ended up getting kicked out of the bathroom a couple of hours later. Bren was fun. He played baseball at the U so he had great forearms. Oh, and did I mention he was a pool boy? He never smoked pot in front of me or asked me join. Hanging out with him was pleasurable, a mindless few hours that I could spend away from home. No need for deep conversation, he couldn't follow it. No need to find a great restaurant for dinner, we just ate junk food to fill his munchy cravings. He left me cute little notes on my car at school that made me laugh. Like the one where he informed me that my coveted A parking sticker at the U didn't stand for Anywhere. This is the day he found my car parked on a snowbank. I was running late! Most importantly he saved me from a crazy stalker just by intimidating him with his mere size. Once I even let him meet my dad. Not sure what I was thinking that day! Luckily he had red hair that kind of distracted dad from his bloodshot eyes.
I would add Bren to the dance card but he is in prison in Alaska. They allowed him home for his Grandma's funeral with an ankle monitor, but not sure that is the look Ky wants at her wedding.
Check . . . Everyone needs a prisoner on their list of boyfriends right?
How about Dan? The tall, dark and handsome OB/GYN from Chicago that I met in Vegas. Oh the trouble that Dr. Bobs at the NYNY Piano Bar can get you into. Girls weekend in Vegas. OK, so we were really staying in Mesquite. Have you ever been to Mesquite? We survived one night only to see Kip Attaway then we had to escape the land of the retirement casinos and white hairs and drive the hundred miles to Vegas! Let's just say we made the most of it. Right off my flirty friend Nik had hooked a cute guy. A doctor and she was so proud. My other friend Les snagged his twin brother! My night was quickly plummeting. I'm not outgoing. I don't really flirt. Luckily, neither did their friend. We were a perfect match. He said hello. I said hi. He asked if I wanted to leave. I answered yes. Wow! I was an easy catch that night! I snagged a doc! I got my first taste of truffles that night and they were decadent. I got my first naughty limo ride up and down the Vegas strip. Complete with neon lights, a disco ball , zebra print carpet and a very discreet driver. When the doc found out we had to drive back to Mesquite he quickly got us a suite at the Monte Carlo but I graciously declined. I wanted to stay so badly but felt guilty taking advantage of his drunken credit card usage. Instead, I just went to his room to wait for my friends. We broke a rule. We didn't make a meeting plan before going our separate ways. Just then my phone starting vibrating with a text message. It was from Nik. "Meet us in Dan's room in 15." I looked at my doc and said, hey, we're supposed to meet my friends in Dan's room. He said great, I'm Dan! Oh, I just realized I never asked his name. The perfect one night stand.
If I only knew Dan's last name, I would add him to Ky's dance card.
Check, check, check . . . everyone needs a great, nameless one night stand.
I haven't seen Stan since he got married in a tee pee and moved to Durango. I still have a healing stone that he brought me from a hike. It reminded him of me and I was to carry it on me at all times to keep me safe. It is in my jewelry box.
I saw Bren a few years ago. He looked just the same - good. And still smelled like pot. I thank him for being so enamored with me. I needed it.
Dan, well, he is a great story to tell friends about. Luckily Nik and Les were there to prove he was real and not a liquor induced dream.
Her first request was Stan the Mountain Man. I dated Stan when I was 20, he was 40 something. That drove my mother nuts to say the very least. Stan only cut his hair once a year and he never trimmed his mustache. He also believed bathing on a daily basis was not a necessity, just a waste of water. He donned tie dyed shirts, shorts and Birkenstock complete with wool socks. He really wished he had been born an Indian. He spent his weekends naked in sweat lodges with Medicine men, Indians with beautiful long hair, as well as other white wannabes. His favorite movie had to be Dances With Wolves. We had to go see it several times. Each time he would tell me the history of the Indians and the old west. I never reminded him that I did score a 5 on my American AP test and that I was thinking about majoring in History. I let him tell me about musket guns and scalping while we ate the pizza that he would smuggle in. You're thinking how classy right? It gets better! One day Stay showed up to work with a little leather pouch hanging from his neck. Yep, broke that golden rule of not sleeping where you work more than once! He was always doing strange things so it didn't really alarm me. Then at lunch he did it, he finally shocked me! Dinners on the floor drinking out of oyster shells didn't do it. Having him sweep smoke over me with an eagle feather didn't do it. Flesh hanging in a pouch around his neck did it! Over the weekend he had cleansed himself in the sweat lodge. Part of that cleansing was to remove the venom from yourself by cutting away a piece of your flesh then carrying it with you to remind you of your sins. My boyfriend had a piece of his own flesh around his neck as a piece of jewelry!
Check . . . dated the older man.
How about Bren. He was my pot smoking college boyfriend who asked me to marry him at the end of every date. We met because we were the two bored people at a New Year's Eve party. We ended up getting kicked out of the bathroom a couple of hours later. Bren was fun. He played baseball at the U so he had great forearms. Oh, and did I mention he was a pool boy? He never smoked pot in front of me or asked me join. Hanging out with him was pleasurable, a mindless few hours that I could spend away from home. No need for deep conversation, he couldn't follow it. No need to find a great restaurant for dinner, we just ate junk food to fill his munchy cravings. He left me cute little notes on my car at school that made me laugh. Like the one where he informed me that my coveted A parking sticker at the U didn't stand for Anywhere. This is the day he found my car parked on a snowbank. I was running late! Most importantly he saved me from a crazy stalker just by intimidating him with his mere size. Once I even let him meet my dad. Not sure what I was thinking that day! Luckily he had red hair that kind of distracted dad from his bloodshot eyes.
I would add Bren to the dance card but he is in prison in Alaska. They allowed him home for his Grandma's funeral with an ankle monitor, but not sure that is the look Ky wants at her wedding.
Check . . . Everyone needs a prisoner on their list of boyfriends right?
How about Dan? The tall, dark and handsome OB/GYN from Chicago that I met in Vegas. Oh the trouble that Dr. Bobs at the NYNY Piano Bar can get you into. Girls weekend in Vegas. OK, so we were really staying in Mesquite. Have you ever been to Mesquite? We survived one night only to see Kip Attaway then we had to escape the land of the retirement casinos and white hairs and drive the hundred miles to Vegas! Let's just say we made the most of it. Right off my flirty friend Nik had hooked a cute guy. A doctor and she was so proud. My other friend Les snagged his twin brother! My night was quickly plummeting. I'm not outgoing. I don't really flirt. Luckily, neither did their friend. We were a perfect match. He said hello. I said hi. He asked if I wanted to leave. I answered yes. Wow! I was an easy catch that night! I snagged a doc! I got my first taste of truffles that night and they were decadent. I got my first naughty limo ride up and down the Vegas strip. Complete with neon lights, a disco ball , zebra print carpet and a very discreet driver. When the doc found out we had to drive back to Mesquite he quickly got us a suite at the Monte Carlo but I graciously declined. I wanted to stay so badly but felt guilty taking advantage of his drunken credit card usage. Instead, I just went to his room to wait for my friends. We broke a rule. We didn't make a meeting plan before going our separate ways. Just then my phone starting vibrating with a text message. It was from Nik. "Meet us in Dan's room in 15." I looked at my doc and said, hey, we're supposed to meet my friends in Dan's room. He said great, I'm Dan! Oh, I just realized I never asked his name. The perfect one night stand.
If I only knew Dan's last name, I would add him to Ky's dance card.
Check, check, check . . . everyone needs a great, nameless one night stand.
I haven't seen Stan since he got married in a tee pee and moved to Durango. I still have a healing stone that he brought me from a hike. It reminded him of me and I was to carry it on me at all times to keep me safe. It is in my jewelry box.
I saw Bren a few years ago. He looked just the same - good. And still smelled like pot. I thank him for being so enamored with me. I needed it.
Dan, well, he is a great story to tell friends about. Luckily Nik and Les were there to prove he was real and not a liquor induced dream.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Sperm.com Didn't Have the Answer
Some parental jobs are defined by gender. Moms are supposed to soothe the owies, do their hair, cook them dinner. Dads teach them to ride bikes, enforce curfew and give them that evil eye that let's them know they are in trouble. Mothers of the Bride get to wear tacky dresses and corsages, fret over meetings with florists and close a gazillion buttons while looking for the perfect dress. Fathers of the Bride get to grant permission to marry their daughter, walk them down the aisle and have a daddy daughter dance.
So what happens in our nontraditional family? Our family where Kyky gives me both Mother's Day and Father's Day gifts because I am both to her.
I taught her how to ride a bike and I enforced curfew. I never was able to give that evil look though. I always ended up giggling which became contagious and then we would forget what naughty deed started the entire hysteria. I also bandaged the scrapes, fixed her hair and made sure she was fed.
I can guarantee I'm not going to wear a tacky dress. Let's not forget the dream of the MOB being a MILF. My dress will be sexy, well, appropriately sexy. I can't be embarrassing. It won't be red. I've already had meetings that make me fret over this entire event and I am dreading the task of finding the perfect dress all the while looking forward to doing up the gazillion buttons.
But what about that granting permission? The walk down the aisle? The daddy daughter dance?
That's where her sperm donor was supposed to come in. But Spermy has just recently made an appearance in her life. He hasn't yet earned the rights to these traditions has he?
I made it through the first task when Stretch came over that night to ask me to marry my daughter. Once I got over the initial embarrassment of what I had done to him just days before I bucked up and took on the role of the fatherly figure. I thought about what my dad had said to my brother-in-law when he came with the same question. I got as serious as I could. Asked about their future plans, talked about the importance of finishing school and not rushing into things. I think I did OK. We had a good talk and he had a plan and good answers to all my questions. I felt successful. I went to bed thinking I couldn't believe I just had that conversation! It wasn't supposed to be my job but in our little family, all the jobs are mine.
Would Spermy have been tougher on Stretch the Suitor? Asked tougher more pertinent questions? I don't think so. He didn't get to grant permission. He didn't get to answer the all important question in his daughter's life. I did and I was proud to be breaking the gender barrier.
The aisle -- I'm not walking her down it. I think that would look stupid. Some traditions need to be kept. A bride needs to be on the arm of a man. A man that loves her and has watched her grow into a woman. Not on the arm of a mom. Two dresses, two up dos, too many flowers are not a good thing. Plus is kind of lesi. It isn't the right picture. The picture is supposed to be a beautiful white dress accompanied by a dashing black tuxedo. Maybe she'll walk down alone. After all she does like to think she is independent. That seems lonely. Do you really want to make the longest and most watched walk of your life all by yourself? All eyes on just you. No one to steady your nervous steps towards the altar and your future husband? No one there to push you forward, to cue you to take Stretch's hand? The last option is to find that special man. She says Spermy hasn't earned the right to lend his elbow and give her away. Gpa is her other choice. He would be proud and the GOB (grandma of the bride, divorced from the Gpa) would be so envious. That might make the decision for Kyky right there. She loves to piss off the GOB. I know this is a tough decision for her. Ky doesn't want to offend anyone. If Spermy hadn't entered her life I think she would have already asked Gpa. A way to repay him for all the tractor rides, mac n' cheese, pool parties and trips to the dump. For her love of the Red Sox, corn and her natural ease at finding klutzy accidents! But then I think there is that part of her that wants her "dad" to walk her down the aisle. I don't think she is worried about offending Gpa or Spermy, but me. Would I be hurt if Spermy were to walk her down the aisle? I think if the wedding were soon, my answer is yes. But I have a year to get used to the idea. I don't know that he has earned the right yet, but he has time to redeem himself, to earn the right. Plus I keep reminding myself that I truly loved him and because of that love I have Ky. Maybe it is me that owes that walk to him. He gave me a great give with that sperm donation twenty years ago. Maybe this is my gift to him . . . letting him revel in the pride and love that that donation created. Obviously I'm going to have to start thinking of him as more than sperm.com. Mama will be going to the bar to get used to having him around again! Don't think he gets to answer the question of "who gives this woman in marriage?" I am answering that! Whoever the hell walks her down the damned aisle!
Now for the dance. What is a wedding with dancing and no daddy daughter dance? Spermy has earned that by finally contacting Kyky. Not to mention with the cash that he is giving for this bash! Or maybe it should just be a montage of the men I have involved in her life. My dad, who helped me raise her. My first real boyfriend after Spermy, T, who helped drive carpool to Challenger School, introduced her to her love of country music, and loved her as his own. Or maybe Otis, my best friends x-husband and my x-boyfriend who has known Ky since she was one. He has been there through everything until this last chapter. Breaking up with someone can do that. He isn't aware that Spermy is back in the picture and he isn't in the loop of the wedding. But he has seen her grow into a woman and he has loved her as his "oldest" kid for a long time. We'll leave out the losers that we all want to forget!
When it comes down to it . . . the decisions are Ky's. Walk with who you want to. Steady yourself and proudly take that step towards Stretch all on your own. Or have the arm of Gpa or Spermy to guide you into your future. It is your choice. Dance with everyone who has loved you as a daughter and enjoy every beat. The night is yours and your decisions will be right.
So what happens in our nontraditional family? Our family where Kyky gives me both Mother's Day and Father's Day gifts because I am both to her.
I taught her how to ride a bike and I enforced curfew. I never was able to give that evil look though. I always ended up giggling which became contagious and then we would forget what naughty deed started the entire hysteria. I also bandaged the scrapes, fixed her hair and made sure she was fed.
I can guarantee I'm not going to wear a tacky dress. Let's not forget the dream of the MOB being a MILF. My dress will be sexy, well, appropriately sexy. I can't be embarrassing. It won't be red. I've already had meetings that make me fret over this entire event and I am dreading the task of finding the perfect dress all the while looking forward to doing up the gazillion buttons.
But what about that granting permission? The walk down the aisle? The daddy daughter dance?
That's where her sperm donor was supposed to come in. But Spermy has just recently made an appearance in her life. He hasn't yet earned the rights to these traditions has he?
I made it through the first task when Stretch came over that night to ask me to marry my daughter. Once I got over the initial embarrassment of what I had done to him just days before I bucked up and took on the role of the fatherly figure. I thought about what my dad had said to my brother-in-law when he came with the same question. I got as serious as I could. Asked about their future plans, talked about the importance of finishing school and not rushing into things. I think I did OK. We had a good talk and he had a plan and good answers to all my questions. I felt successful. I went to bed thinking I couldn't believe I just had that conversation! It wasn't supposed to be my job but in our little family, all the jobs are mine.
Would Spermy have been tougher on Stretch the Suitor? Asked tougher more pertinent questions? I don't think so. He didn't get to grant permission. He didn't get to answer the all important question in his daughter's life. I did and I was proud to be breaking the gender barrier.
The aisle -- I'm not walking her down it. I think that would look stupid. Some traditions need to be kept. A bride needs to be on the arm of a man. A man that loves her and has watched her grow into a woman. Not on the arm of a mom. Two dresses, two up dos, too many flowers are not a good thing. Plus is kind of lesi. It isn't the right picture. The picture is supposed to be a beautiful white dress accompanied by a dashing black tuxedo. Maybe she'll walk down alone. After all she does like to think she is independent. That seems lonely. Do you really want to make the longest and most watched walk of your life all by yourself? All eyes on just you. No one to steady your nervous steps towards the altar and your future husband? No one there to push you forward, to cue you to take Stretch's hand? The last option is to find that special man. She says Spermy hasn't earned the right to lend his elbow and give her away. Gpa is her other choice. He would be proud and the GOB (grandma of the bride, divorced from the Gpa) would be so envious. That might make the decision for Kyky right there. She loves to piss off the GOB. I know this is a tough decision for her. Ky doesn't want to offend anyone. If Spermy hadn't entered her life I think she would have already asked Gpa. A way to repay him for all the tractor rides, mac n' cheese, pool parties and trips to the dump. For her love of the Red Sox, corn and her natural ease at finding klutzy accidents! But then I think there is that part of her that wants her "dad" to walk her down the aisle. I don't think she is worried about offending Gpa or Spermy, but me. Would I be hurt if Spermy were to walk her down the aisle? I think if the wedding were soon, my answer is yes. But I have a year to get used to the idea. I don't know that he has earned the right yet, but he has time to redeem himself, to earn the right. Plus I keep reminding myself that I truly loved him and because of that love I have Ky. Maybe it is me that owes that walk to him. He gave me a great give with that sperm donation twenty years ago. Maybe this is my gift to him . . . letting him revel in the pride and love that that donation created. Obviously I'm going to have to start thinking of him as more than sperm.com. Mama will be going to the bar to get used to having him around again! Don't think he gets to answer the question of "who gives this woman in marriage?" I am answering that! Whoever the hell walks her down the damned aisle!
Now for the dance. What is a wedding with dancing and no daddy daughter dance? Spermy has earned that by finally contacting Kyky. Not to mention with the cash that he is giving for this bash! Or maybe it should just be a montage of the men I have involved in her life. My dad, who helped me raise her. My first real boyfriend after Spermy, T, who helped drive carpool to Challenger School, introduced her to her love of country music, and loved her as his own. Or maybe Otis, my best friends x-husband and my x-boyfriend who has known Ky since she was one. He has been there through everything until this last chapter. Breaking up with someone can do that. He isn't aware that Spermy is back in the picture and he isn't in the loop of the wedding. But he has seen her grow into a woman and he has loved her as his "oldest" kid for a long time. We'll leave out the losers that we all want to forget!
When it comes down to it . . . the decisions are Ky's. Walk with who you want to. Steady yourself and proudly take that step towards Stretch all on your own. Or have the arm of Gpa or Spermy to guide you into your future. It is your choice. Dance with everyone who has loved you as a daughter and enjoy every beat. The night is yours and your decisions will be right.
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