Lots of things to cover, so let’s do this thing.
My baby’s a model!
Hubs peed his pants!
Newton and Fairley are Autobots!
That was the condensed version. Now when you add a can of water, you get:
My baby’s a model. I knew this day would come. Just kidding. The talented lady behind Lil Miss Muffin just happens to be the wife of a former co-worker, and we got together Saturday morning so little Bean can showcase some of her lovely designs.
The photo shoot (that sounds so professional) was a lot of fun to watch, and Bean was a natural! And now I know how averagely crazy moms become pageant-crazy moms. As in, my baby is the most beautiful, so give her a tiara to prove it! Okay, maybe not so much, but nevertheless, I’m pretty sure I won’t say no when Parents Magazine comes knocking on my door.
Hubs peed his pants. He didn’t really, just to clarify. As you know, Hubs is thirty, and I’m still his twenty-something trophy wife who was (to my own surprise) pretty good at leading a double-life for nearly four months, and, with help, nearly sent him into cardiac arrest Saturday night.
This past weekend I managed to pull off the surprise of the decade (his third decade, to be precise). Adding to the surprise, most of our out-of-town family were able to come up and lay low until the Big Reveal. We were able to celebrate with all of our parents, my sister and her family, and all of our closest friends who like us enough to trek all the way out to the mountains just for dinner. (I can’t blame them, Hubs is pretty awesome.)
I know you can’t tell from my (not) awesome photography, but he is really, really surprised, as is Bug. I couldn’t risk Bug inadvertently blowing our cover, so I had to keep him in the dark, too. In my nervousness, I remembered to switch my camera to Auto mode, but didn’t remember to switch it to Auto focus. So what you get is something on the level of Bigfoot sightings. My bad. Luckily, about half a dozen cameras were going off, because I promised everyone Hubs makes a ridiculous expression when caught off-guard, so I’ll have to gank someone else’s more-in-focus photo for the scrapbooks. (Haha, that’s funny, I don’t keep scrapbooks.)
The venue was, in a word, PERFECT. Even though they won’t give me a discount, I’m still going to plug them like a bad hair transplant. Dancing Bear Lodge was spec-tac-ular. The food was delicious, we had a room all to ourselves, and all of our family stayed in the cabins, so we were able to stretch the party out to Sunday. And Hubs had less than zero suspicions, despite this being in the works since September.
(Just a note, unless you’re the one managing the finances, this will probably never work. I lived in constant fear that Hubs would, out-of-character, take a glance at our bank statement and wonder why I’m dropping bucks at a cabin rental place without him.)
Newton and Fairley are Autobots. I couldn’t have asked for a better National Championship game Monday night. Well, actually, a better game would have been Auburn up forty points by half-time so I didn’t have to stay awake until 1AM, clutching Bean in my arms while she slept and trying to remember not to spike her when Auburn lined up for the final field goal for the win, after Oregon got their second two-point conversion of the game (I thought those were supposed to be hard! Come on, Tigers, what the deuce!).
But this game had superhuman athleticism (did Fairley just pop out of the ground for that sack?), drama (let’s see how many times we can turn over the ball in ten minutes, ready, set, GO), passion, blood, sweat, tears, and the big W for this Auburn fan. And we had the special privilege of watching it with Hubs’ dad, who braved snow and sleet to stick around town just to catch the game.
And I’m pretty sure I saw Newton transform into a stealth jet at some point in the game, and Fairley is basically a tank with legs. And is Dyer Ronnie Brown incarnate? I happen to think so. There’s a good chance they’re all getting paid more than I ever did at any honest, respectable job (except for that one I had…) (just kidding), but at least it brought results. WHO-DEY! It might be another fifty-odd years before we can claim another, but we kept the trophy in the SEC, as well as in the state.
Ahem. WAR. EAGLE.
2 responses to “A Can of Condensed”
Love the part about remembering not to spike Bean. Funny.
Fairley is a monster. He scares me.
It was a more conscious effort than any good mother would have had.
And I’m just glad Fairley wears blue and orange. I heard he eats three Bengal tigers before every game.