More Excitement

We have had another exciting, joyful event in our lives.

Emily's boyfriend, Anthony, planned a surprise proposal. He decided that he wanted to be surrounded by the love of friends and family when he asked Emily to marry him.

As you will see, she was totally taken off guard. The video is long, but the actual proposal part is only a couple of minutes.

Skip to about 1:30 - that's when Em walks in the door - the back door! We were waiting for her to come in the front, but it worked out ok.

Then after the proposal is just a bunch of hugging and misc. footage so you can ignore that part, too.

Have fun!

I'm editing this a day later because I was with Emily last night and when I told her that I had put the video on my blog she asked, "Did you tell them the story?"

Well. No. I thought the video was explanation enough.

"You mean you didn't even tell them why he wrote a poem - that was one of the sweetest parts!"

So, the reason for the little poem in the proposal: The way Anthony asked Emily out on their first date was by having a stuffed animal delivered to her college dorm room. The little monkey was holding a card on which was written a cute poem asking her if she would go on a date with him to the zoo.

Tada! Happy Em? :)

And Our Grandbaby is Going to Be......

We Skyped with our son and daughter in law while we opened a package that would tell us the sex of their baby.

The video is long, but we open the box in the first few seconds. The rest is just a lot of squealing and talking and crying and noisy joy.



Ya think that we are a little bit excited?!

How To Choose A Grandparent Name

Grandmother, grandma, mawmaw, memaw, nana, nanny, grammaw, mamaw...how does one decide?

It takes 9 months for a baby to be born. As soon as the parents find out that they are expecting they start agonizing over what to name their precious newborn. It's a hard decision - fraught with peril and pitfalls.

Choosing a grandparent name is almost as difficult! I've recently been poring over lists of grandmother and grandfather names. There are traditional names, fun names, trendy names. My husband, Kevin, claims that he wants to be called Special K. He's joking. He had better be joking. His second choice is G-Daddy. Ummm. You aren't a rapper, dear.

Some people claim that you should let the child pick the name.

Uh. No.

I plan to give a little guidance!

Here's why: In the past it was common in southern families for the grandparents to be called mother or mama (last name) and daddy (last name). My great grandmother was known as Mama Thompson, but when my father turned two or so he couldn't say Mama Thompson and shortened her name to Mason. We spelled it Mason, but it was pronounced Mah-son. Her husband was called Daddy Thompson by the older people, but became Tompie to the younger grand and great grand children. Tompie was a cute name. Mah-son...not so much.

So in order to avoid Mah-son or something equally bad I'm going to pick a name for myself.

I don't know. I'm still leaning towards Nana. It's common, I know. But it also doesn't sound too old. I'll still be 50 when I become a grandmother for the first time.

Oh.

Did I mention that I'm going to be a grandmother?

I'm going to be a grandmother!!!!!!!!!

We are thrilled. We've known for about a month now, but have just recently been given permission to make the news "public." Hah! As if this blog is public.

We are so excited and so happy for Chris and Andra. They are about 9 weeks along now and have had their first doctor's appointment. Their precious baby is due May 8. He or she is already so loved. We can't wait!

So...What is your grandmother name? Or what do you hope for it to be?

The Bad Wife Award

I turned 50 on August 27.

50!

If you've been reading my blog lately you might already suspect that I was NOT handling it well. Definitely not happy about this birthday. Like, really, really not happy. You know...August and struggling with my mortality and my failures and aging and blah, blah, blah. Issues. I have issues.

About a week before the big day I started to get the feeling that my husband was planning something. I wasn't sure what was going on, but it was obvious that something was in the air. That panicky, fluttery feeling started up in my stomach. Oh dear me. Could he possibly be considering a surprise party?

I HATE surprises.

I HATE being the center of attention.

I LOVE having people in my home and I'm actually a good hostess. But here's the deal...I like having people in my home when I'm cooking for them and doing for them and trying to make them comfortable - NOT when they are in my home to do something for me.

Of course, rather than addressing the situation directly I skirted all around the trouble spot, spending time dropping hints and trying to figure out what was being planned. I put on a pretense of being nonchalant and casually mentioned to my daughters that I really, really wouldn't want a surprise party for my 50th birthday. They got the "deer in the headlights" look and I knew the truth. So I pressed and repeated, "Like, seriously now, the last thing I would want for my 50th is a surprise party."

And to highlight what a mess I was in at that time? I was even feeling a little angry about the whole deal. I was thinking things like, "Really? The guy has been married to me for 29 years and doesn't know me any better than this?" "What could he possibly be thinking?"

My sweet husband finally came clean and confessed that he had been planning a party. And then...then...you aren't going to believe this...then the man told me that he had just cancelled the whole thing!

This is how the conversation went after that:

ME: You mean you were actually planning a party and had already invited people?

HIM: Yes, Karen! Your birthday is only a week away.

ME: And now you've called everyone and cancelled?

HIM: Yes. You made it clear that this wasn't what you wanted so I cancelled.

ME: What?! I can't believe that you cancelled my party!

Poor guy.

There I was again with those pesky mixed emotions. After discovering that my hunch was correct, but that the party had been cancelled I admit that I first felt several heaping cups of relief being stirred into my emotional mixing bowl. Unfortunately, the relief was followed by a bitter dollop of disapointment, and folded through the entire sorry mess - guilt. Yikes.

It made for a nasty tasting concotion.

That's when I knew - it was time to pull myself together!

Going Into the Ugly Cry - The Wedding

Mixed emotions. I've it said before on this blog and I'm sure I'll say it again - I prefer my emotions straight up. Joy, sadness, fear, excitement...I'll take them one at a time thank you very much.

It was at the rehearsal that the enormity of what was about to happen hit me. Floored me. Sent me into spasms of memory and paroxysms of feelings.

I was barely holding it together and then they rehearsed the lighting of the unity candle. The song that was planned for this moment was The Luckiest by Ben Folds. Do you know it? Somehow I didn't. It was beautiful and fit Chris and Andra perfectly and totally caught me off guard and vulnerable.



I started sobbing. I had to jump up and go to the back of the room to wipe my eyes and gather myself.

Then...

We went to the rehearsal dinner.

I walked into the venue and was greeted by a dear, dear friend who I hadn't seen in 10 years. Darlene and her family had driven in from Colorado! Stunned and thrilled and overwhelmed, I cried again.

Then...

During the dinner people began telling sweet stories about the bride and groom. My sister in law set off my waterworks again with stories about Chris as a little boy. My mom was at another table, I glanced over and she dropped her head into her hands so that I wouldn't see her crying. That almost pushed me over the edge. The rest of the meal my mantra was, "don't look at my mom, don't look at my mom."

THEN...

The bride and groom got up to give gifts and say their thanks and here's where it got really bad...Chris cried.

Let me repeat this. Chris cried. It's been years since I've seen him cry. He sweetly thanked his friends and his family for everything that they had done and for being there for him and...he cried. Andra did a beautiful job of stepping in and finishing their thanks when it got to the point that he could barely go on.

That was the end of any semblance of self control. I was gone.

Let me just say that we are an ugly crying family. Especially me. Swollen eyes, runny nose, splotchy, discolored face. Bad, bad...very bad.

It was a sweet and beautiful evening marred only by the aftermath of the ugly cry.

Surprisingly and fortunately it was all out of my system by the actual ceremony. I was only appropriately teary.


My husband on the other hand...oh dear. That's him on the right struggling. He told me later that when he saw Chris watching Andra walk down the aisle that it finally hit him that his son, his buddy, really was all grown up.

Melancholy August

How does something that happens every year always manage to catch me unaware? I despise this sneaky, silent, August sadness.

The month started with an impromptu family trip to the ocean. I suspect it was my attempt to delay the inevitable. We unlocked the front door to the condo and I immediately walked my fuchsia toes right out the back door, across a boardwalk, through fine, white sand and into the water. I stood knee high surrounded by waves and foam, late afternoon sun heavy on my skin, watching my daughters laugh through wind whipped hair. I willed myself to remember, to cherish this second.

I grapple and grasp the present, not wanting to let go.

You see, for me, August means endings and when it comes to endings I'm still a two year old child. I rail and cry and kick and scream and beg for more time. No, no, no! I cling and cling as if it makes a difference, as if time won't win, as if it won't gently uncurl my fingers and force me to release the idea that things can stay the same.

Endings.

The end of children around the house. How many summers do I have left with any of my children at home? One hand's worth? Less? Yes, I really do understand that the separation from a parent begins at birth. I do. But our truth has been that the *end* of the leaving process *begins* with an August drive to a college. After that, nothing is ever the same.

Endings.

The end of another year of my life. Fifty. Fifty years gone. They seem to have just slipped away when I wasn't looking. How did this happen? It seems so sudden and somehow unexpected. Shouldn't I still be young, unwrinkled, birthing babies, turning heads now and then? I'm not sure where this middle aged woman came from and even worse, I'm not sure who she is. Birthdays make me introspective, causing me to ask unanswerable questions. Did I love my family well enough? Am I wasting too much time? What will the future hold? Being introspective makes me melancholy.

Endings.

The end of a well-lived, much loved life. Death anniversaries are powerful things. About a week ago I found myself crying for no apparent reason, yet the tears felt oddly necessary. Later I remembered that it was August 17. My heart knows the date even when my mind has forgotten. My father's last birthday was his 49th. I've now lived more years than he was given. That thought brings a tiny bit of delight because I know how happy he would be to see me still here, still growing. Mostly though, that thought brings an ache.

Come September I'll be fine. I always am. This mood will lift. I'll open my arms, unclench my fists, begin again, find my hope, my groove, look forward to new things.

But for now, for this last bit of August, I'm giving myself permission to grieve, to mourn the endings, to clutch the present and remember the past.

September and the next phase of my life can wait a little longer.

Shocking Season Finale - The Bachelorette

Yes. I confess.

I watch The Bachelorette with my daughters.

No, I don't feel the need to defend myself. No sirree bob, I sure don't.

Ok, maybe I do - a little.

You see, really...really I just watch so that we can be together. It's girl time. Bonding time. Yeah that's it, I only watch in order to bond with my female offspring!

Oh! I just thought of something else. While we are watching I take every opportunity to declare to my impressionable teenage daughters, "This is SOOOO not the way to go about finding a man!" Isn't that good of me? This show provides endless chances to discuss how one SHOULDN'T handle a dating relationship. And seriously, could there possibly be a better way to teach my daughters what NOT to look for in a guy? See? It's not only a bonding experience but it's...it's educational. Yeah, that's it! I watch because I'm a homeschool mom and homeschool moms are conditioned to be on the look-out for unique educational opportunities!

Whew. Now that I've explained myself let's get to the real point of this post.

This season's bachelorette, Ashley, was a cute but whiny little thing with suspect taste in men and a laugh that had potential to drive someone bonkers. We watched anyway. We liked JP. We thought he was attractive in a weird sort of way. Not that we spent most of our time talking about which of the bachelors were the cutest or anything...of course not, because we were so busy bonding and being educational and all.

ANYWAY...the finale was a couple of weeks ago. Almost always the season finale is labeled as the "most dramatic ever" or the "most shocking in history." Meh. This one was pretty darn predictable and boring. Until - while on *another* date on *another* exotic beach with *another* guy the typically small-chested bachelorette walked onto the screen in *another* new bikini and had...well...boobs!

Now THAT was shocking!

And REALLY distracting.

We started speculating. Implants? No, there hadn't been enough time for that. Weight gain? Nope, the rest of her is as tiny as ever. That time of the month? Nah, too big of a change.

When she changed into the next outfit she was back to normal.

Dang! It had to be the bathing suit!

Not being a particularly well-endowed group of women we laughed and declared that We. Want. That. Suit. We were joking.

Sort of.

OK, we weren't.

I found the suit.

You aren't going to believe this. It's not even some super expensive, miracle producing suit from an upscale shop.

It's this suit and it's from Target! Too bad that my bikini wearing days are long gone. (Actually I'm not sure that I ever had bikini wearing days!)

I wonder if it comes in a one piece, skirted, older woman version?