Happy Anniversary...

My sweet son decided that the only thing he wanted to do on mommy and daddy's wedding anniversary was sleep in, hang around the house all morning in his PJs and get extra cuddles from his mama and Woo.

Technically, he was sick yesterday and was kicked out of school late in the day with a temp of 101.7 and a case of The Throw Ups.

Luckily, his temp was only 100.4 when he went to bed last night, and he woke up with none.

Even better?  He is hungry and is keeping everything down.  I even took him to Good To Go Taco for lunch, and he ate ALL of his egg, potato and bacon burrito and THREE sippy cups full of watered down red Gatorade.

I can't even express how happy this makes me, especially because I don't do throw up well.

Really, it is almost like he missed our usual Mondays with Mommy (since this last Monday was Labor Day), and decided to make up for it mid week.

And just because Trevor is at work doesn't mean he isn't in on the action.  Banner discovered if he hit enough buttons on daddy's clock radio, it plays MUSIC.  All day we've been running in and out of the bedroom playing DJ and having a dance party.  Which sort of explains why Trevor's clock radio now thinks it is 3 AM and is all stickified with red Gatorade and toddler slime.  Someone should probably explain all this to Trevor before he goes to set his alarm tonight.

But then I remembered that our TV has music channels, so we've spent the afternoon shaking our booties in the living room.  Banner LOVES Ke$ha, Katy Perry, Phillip Phillips, Lady Gaga and P!nk.  That boy is so much like his daddy, it is unbelievable.

(See what I did there?  Ha!)

Happy 4th Anniversary, Trevor!  I love you very, very much.

Oh, and our son is the best thing we've ever done and is completely, 100% awesome, but I have a feeling you already knew that.

Also, sorry about your clock radio.

Making it legal (or trying, at least)...

Picked up the wedding license this afternoon, which – incase you were wondering – takes much (much) longer than necessary.

There is a whole section of the 2nd floor of the Records Building downtown devoted to birth, death and marriage licenses. Once you exit the elevator, you’ll see it to your right. Since Trevor and I had already filled out the online portion of the application, the signs directed us to queue up in front of the desk. So we did.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

There were bunches of people working in the department, but only one seemed to be helping anybody. Finally, an employee in the back noticed the hordes of people waiting, and yelled, “Hey! The line’s long again.”

After thirty seconds or so (I think everyone was hoping someone else would get up so they wouldn’t have to), a single worker got up from her desk and slowly walked to the counter. After an audible sigh (followed by a visible eye roll) she said, “Next”.

Obviously, the people in line were only existed to annoy her.

Trevor: “Yes, we are here for a marriage…”

Lady Behind Counter: “[Interrupting] Marriage licenses to the counter to your left. Sign in at the clipboard and sit down.”

At first, we had no idea what she was talking about. But then we saw it. On the far side of the computer was a nondescript clipboard with a sign in sheet attached. There was zero signage to draw your attention to the sign in sheet or anything that gave any direction whatsoever to do anything other than stand in line with your application in hand. And since 90% of the line was made up of couples applying for a marriage license, there was a rush to add your name to the newly discovered marriage license waiting list.

Do you see a clipboard or sign in sheet?

And THESE signs direct you to stand in
line after filling out your application!
NOTHING about signing in and waiting!

Luckily (or so I thought), Trevor and I secured our names to the list near the top, and sat down to wait our turn. But when they started calling names, they skipped ours. Two couples went before us that had both added their names to the waiting list AFTER us and were BEHIND us in line. Very annoying. I’m convinced it was the universe’s way of screwing with us.

After more than an hour of waiting, we finally made it inside. Ten minutes and seventy dollars later, we had our license.

Oy, vey!

My "something blue" and my "sixpence for my shoe"...

“Sanity and happiness are an impossible combination.”

- Mark Twain

Last night I discovered that I had lost both my sixpence and my blue pebble.

My sixpence was last seen in a blue Tiffany’s box inside my grandmother’s breakfront. The blue pebble? Inside it’s purple pouch in the shrine in the study.

After much searching (and a few tears), I gave up and went to bed – vowing, if one or both turned up, I’d donate blood before the wedding.

This morning, before I left for work, I decided to look once more for the blue pebble. And there it was. In the same place I looked for it no less than 15 times the night before.

I gave blood this morning at 10 AM.

The sixpence is still missing, but at least I have my pebble back. One down, one to go.

I swear I'm losing my mind...

The Bachelorette Party…

“Like other parties of the kind, it was first silent, then talky, then argumentative, then disputatious, then unintelligible, then altogether, then inarticulate, and then drunk. When we had reached the last step of this glorious ladder, it was difficult to get down again without stumbling!”

- George Gordon Byron

Just incase there was any doubt, I have the best girlfriends anyone could ever ask for.

On Saturday, August 15th, I was surprised with a completely unexpected bachelorette party.

When it comes to surprises, I’m not known for my cooperation. After all, as in most cases of surprise, I was clueless. How was I supposed to know that making a 11:30 AM nail appointment on Saturday would cause Trevor to bolt from the shower, run into the living room in nothing but a towel dripping water everywhere, grab his cell phone and announce that he his brother RIGHT THEN?

Of course, I would find out later that Trevor’s one job Saturday was to NOT lose me. No wonder my curtsy announcement of, “I’m leaving!” caused him to panic!

So, even though I had a feeling that something was up, I had no idea that I’d walk into a different nail salon an hour and a half later and find so many of my friends waiting to surprise me. Or that they’d have the next twelve hours of my life filled with fabulous food, people and fun!

This is my bachelorette hat from the back.
Anni did a great job with the veil!

So, I cried. Because that is what I do when I am surprised and touched all at the same time. And, well, it was also one of those moments when I realized that I not only had friends, but they liked me, too! Trevor mocked me about this later. Apparently, I am paranoid.

My Shirt...

Anyway, the day started off at a nail salon in East Dallas, where we all got mani/pedis while munching on cheese, crackers and olives while drinking wine. Wine, might I add that my friend Mandy picked up. This might not sound like news unless you’ve met Mandy – who, at 95 pounds, rarely, if ever, drinks and has been known to spit out Communion Wine at the alter. It was a big deal.

Pretty Toes!

Nails were followed by a few rounds of Bride Bingo at my house. I was having too much fun to pay attention, much less win. My personal favorite moment? When JLR discovered that RR had “bingoed” (or in this case “brided”), but didn’t announce it because RR had already won a round and was keeping quiet in the hopes JLR would be victorious. Those two, I swear!

Heading to dinner...

Bingo was followed by dinner at Kona Grill (yum, sushi). Our server, Chester, doted on us and made such an impression on the group that he was asked to sign my giant card. I’d tell you what he said, but the card was whisked away by one of my bridesmaids before I could read any of the comments. I have a feeling it will reemerge later on, though. No worries.

After dinner, the group relocated to Pete’s Dueling Piano Bar in Addison. The place was packed, but fun. And thanks to Anni, I ended up on stage. Have I ever mentioned that I can’t dance? Or maybe it is that I don’t know how to dance when the announcer tells me to dance dirty? And, really, how does one dance to Baby Got Back? Especially, someone who’s bootie shakes when she’s trying to shimmy? Oh, wait. I guess I should have tried to shimmy up there. Oops.

Luckily, I wasn’t the only one up on stage, and the lady next to me was more than willing to use me as her pole since I was doing more standing than dancing anyway. And, for the record, being used as a pole by a strange woman was much, much better than having my a$$ grabbed by random bar goers. Apparently, nothing makes men want to grab your bootie more than wearing a pink cowboy hat with a veil. And sometimes “grabbing” was more “pinching” than anything else. I still have the faded bruises on my posterior to prove it!

See my pink hat?
That's me during my brief tenure as a human stripper pole.

All in all, my bachelorette party was a blast. I keep tearing up while writing this post (again with all the drop-of-a-hat waterworks!). I am a lucky girl with the best(est) friends in the world!

Now, we just have to get the guys to take Trevor to look at boobies and we will be all set!

It can always be worse...

This evening I found myself watching the Fox Octomom special on the internet. Why? Planning a wedding is stressful, but at least I don’t have fourteen kids and a two year old that slaps me in the face and calls me a b*tch. Nor do I think my house is haunted. Overall, my life is a picnic. I just needed a little perspective.

If you need some too, here you go:

Octomom: The Incredible Unseen Footage

(It is like a train wreck: You want to turn away, but just can’t.)

And the REAL countdown has officially begun...

Like kids, but not...

From: Deals
Sent: Monday, August 10, 2009 11:20 AM
To: Haley
Subject: RE: wedding worksheet for musical entertainment

Here you go! Sorry again for the delay!

Thanks,
Deals

________________________________________
From: Haley
Sent: Monday, August 10, 2009 11:35 AM
To: Deals
Subject: Re: wedding worksheet for musical entertainment

Thanks so much! I will get this to Justin and have him call you directly with any specific music questions.

And how cute are your niece's and nephew's names?! My oldest brother is named Haskell...I have never met anyone else with his name, but glad to see that its finally catching on :)

________________________________________
From: Deals
Sent: Monday, August 10, 2009 11:42 AM
To: Haley
Subject: RE: wedding worksheet for musical entertainment

Haha! Actually Gypsy and Haskell are our dogs! I love the name “Haskell”, though. It is the name of one of Texas’ heroes (I work at [Texas History Museum], so I like the historical connection). It worked out perfectly because I loved the name AND I found Haskell just north of Haskell Avenue. He was a stray and had been hit by a car.

I’m attaching a picture for your viewing pleasure. :)


________________________________________
From: Haley
Sent: Monday, August 10, 2009 11:47 AM
To: Deals
Subject: Re: wedding worksheet for musical entertainment

LOL! - that's what I get for assuming...don't tell your brother that I just assigned two children to him - haha! I didn't even think having handlers for them was weird...my nieces and nephews are out of control!

This sounds like a meant to be connection with you and Haskell...I'm glad he found such a loving home. Both of your 'kids' look so happy :)

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to...

Trevor planned a surprise birthday party for me.

When the first guests arrived, I hid in the closet. Why? Because I fully intended not to observe my birthday and go to bed early. I was sick, after all.

Apparently, the closet isn’t a very good hiding place, however, and both Bert and Susie found me without ever really having to look. After a brief cry (I’ve been crying a lot lately) they managed to coax me out of the closet and into the living room. There I was handed a glass of wine and told to make guacamole (my one specialty).

Little did I know, Susie and Bert weren’t the only people invited that evening. Over the course of the next several hours, about twenty people came and went. Trevor, Susie and Bert cooked dinner for everyone, and Amy cleaned the kitchen. All I had to do was stand there and let Trevor know if anyone needed a tour of his new bar (many did which tickled Trevor to no end).

It was also nice to hear that we have made headway with the unpacking from people who haven’t seen the house in awhile (even if it doesn’t feel like we’ve made any at all). Apparently, having some art hung on the walls has made a lot of difference - even if Trevor hung some of the pictures in the hallway at his eye level (6’3)! Now if we can only make progress with the “wedding present room” we will be all set!

The Long Awaited Proposal Story...

Happiness only real when shared.

- Christopher McCandless

Since I’ve been engaged for a year TODAY, I guess it is time to finally tell (drum roll, please) the Engagement Story.

As you may remember from The Necessary Pre Proposal Story, Trevor and I climbed our first fourteener on Sunday, August 3rd, 2008. So, it came as quite a surprise when Trevor announced that he wanted to go on a hike to the Ice Lakes a mere two days later.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love the Ice Lakes hike. See my profile picture? That was taken on the Ice Lakes hike back in the summer of 2004. Trevor and I have gone on it every single summer that we’ve been able to vacation in Colorado. The summer of 2007, we even did it twice.

Again. I HEART Ice Lakes.

It was just that my blisters hadn’t healed from the hike two days earlier, and I was still exhausted. Plus, my mom and Trevor’s friend, Tracy, had just arrived from Texas over the weekend. The Ice Lakes hike isn’t necessarily hard, but loooooong. For someone who has only been in the altitude for a day or two, it can be pretty…well, breathtaking (in the literal sense, of course).

Case in point (and a brief – but necessary – detour into the past):

When Trevor and I started dating in June of 2002, he was a smoker. At first, I didn’t really care. I figured our relationship wouldn’t survive the summer (I was about to start graduate school in Washington, DC), and – plus – who was I to make him quit? But after a year of dating it became obvious that the smoking really had to go. Either that or I did. I know it sounds harsh, but the longer I dated Trevor, the more I came to realize that smoking was a deal breaker for me. For one, I’m allergic to smoke, and nothing says “sexy” like itchy, red eyes and post nasal drip. Secondly, I had fallen in love with the guy, and I wanted him to be healthy. I watched my grandfather die of lung cancer as a teenager, and the more I grew to love Trevor, the less I was able to dismiss his smoking as “no big deal”. So, I gave Trevor an ultimatum: me or the cigarettes.

Trevor (surprise!) chose me, and started the process of trying to wean himself off cigarettes. This, of course, is a lot easier said than done, but I tried to be supportive (buying him the Nicorette gum, cheering him on when he went a day without a smoke, etc.). But about halfway through the summer, it was clear to me that he had fallen off the wagon. Even worse, though?...when I realized he had started lying to me about it. Trevor would see a mutual friend or one of my siblings, smoke and then beg them not to tell me about it. Not that I needed anyone to alert me to the obvious. For anyone who has ever dated a smoker, you can smell it on their skin and taste it on their breath – even if they’ve showered and brushed their teeth. I knew what was going on. I was disappointed that he was still smoking, but that was nothing compared to the hurt caused by his lying to me about it.


But instead of yelling at him, I asked Trevor to go with me to Colorado for a week in the summer of 2003. I’ve always loved to hike, and tricked Trevor into going along with me to the Ice Lakes. I say “tricked” because I knew the hike would – completely and utterly – kick his a$$. First off, the trailhead is north of Silverton, which makes the starting elevation well above 9,300 feet. Secondly, the hike to the lower basin alone is about 2 miles (not that far) but the elevation gain is an additional 1200 feet. I didn’t plan on stopping at the lower basin on this particular hike, either. My final destination was the upper basin – another mile and rather steep 750 feet of elevation gain farther up the mountain.

Trevor started out strong, like I knew he would. He had to stop frequently to catch his breath, but made it to the lower basin okay. But the mile to the upper basin was a completely different story. Trevor couldn’t go more than a couple of steps before stopping to catch his breath, and his progress was painfully slow. I rubbed it in (on purpose – I was making a point, after all) by literally running up the trail, stopping and waiting for him to catch up. But before he could actually reach me (I was worried he’d make me go back down if he did), I’d sprint ahead again. To say Trevor wasn’t happy would have been a gross understatement.

In the end, I made it to the top, but Trevor did not. He made it about halfway between the upper and lower basins before calling it quits. I made it all the way to the upper basin, but only stayed long enough to take a couple of photos of the view.


The trip down actually got pretty scary – at least for me. It was getting dark, and Trevor (despite going down hill) was moving very slowly. His legs were visibly shaky, and night was coming on fast. More than once, I considered what would happen if we were forced to stop and sleep on the side of the mountain. Or if Trevor's legs simply gave out and he fell and hurt himself.

Luckily, we made it down to the car before total darkness took over, and started our journey back to the Durango cabin. There were no words to describe my relief at seeing our blue rental car parked at the trailhead that evening.

The next day I was fine, but it took Trevor DAYS to recover. The Ice Lakes hike was a real wakeup call for him, and he made a promise to himself – not me – to get himself healthy. The result: Trevor never smoked another cigarette again.

For this reason, the Ice Lakes hike is more than just a pretty destination for us. It is the place where Trevor overcame his addiction to cigarettes, and I realized just how much I cared for him.

The following summer, Trevor and I returned to the Ice Lakes. The previous year, when he was still smoking, it had taken him 3 hours to reach the lower basin. But in 2004 he made if up there in under an hour. Forty five minutes later, Trevor was standing in the upper basin enjoying the view that had eluded him the previous year. It was a moving experience for both of us, and the first time I remember thinking that I could spend the rest of my life with him. I know that sounds super-sappy, but we had just accomplished something difficult together. It had been a long, two year journey, but we had made it! And the view from the upper basin was absolutely amazing. Trevor, who had never been a hiker before, finally understood why I liked it so much.

Trevor Victorious...

But, like usual, I digress.

On the morning of August 5th, 2008, the last thing I wanted to do was climb another mountain. Especially, a mountain that required I wear hiking boots or tennis shoes instead of Birkenstocks (again with the giant blisters!). So, during breakfast, I tried to persuade the group to go on another hike to Spud Lake (read: nice, short and PAINLESS). A beautiful little one mile hike that could easily be done in flip flops.

See? Spud Lake is beautiful, too!

But Trevor kept insisting that we go on the Ice Lakes hike instead, and for whatever reason, my mother – who had only been in the altitude for two days and knew first hand what the Ice Lakes hike was like – kept AGREEING with him!

Before I knew it, Scott, Tracy, mom, Trevor and I were in the car on our way to Silverton and the Ice Lakes trailhead.

I was less than amused.

Once there, I finally committed to putting on my hiking boots and groaned. Despite Band-Aids, moleskin and thin, wool socks, my blisters we screaming in agony. This pain only increased with every single step I took, and before long I was lagging way behind the group.

Trevor, in an apparent attempt to seem supportive, slowed down and tried to coax me along. This did nothing to lighten my mood. Instead, now that I was out of earshot of the rest of the group, I let Trevor have it and proceeded to b*tch my way up the mountain. It was, after all, HIS fault that I was on this stupid hike in the first place. I had wanted to wait until Thursday or Friday to come, but no, no. HE HAD to go on TUESDAY. Two friggin’ days after climbing a fourteener!

Me: “You have giant blisters, too! Aren’t they killing you?”

Trevor: “No. Mine feel fine.”

Me: “[With much bitterness] Well, then I wish pain upon you!”

So, yeah. I was regular picnic that morning.

My mood only continued to deteriorate when – more than two thirds of the way to the lower basin - the skies started to darken and all around us could be heard the distant rumblings of thunder. I actually remember hoping I’d be struck by lightening. This had nothing to do with wanting to die, mind you. I just couldn’t imagine walking all the way back to the car. The pain in my feet was almost unbearable, and I figured if I got struck, Trevor would have to carry me back down to the car (which, quite frankly, would serve him right since he’d forced the d@mned hike on me in the first place).

The Weather...

By the time we reached the lower basin, the blisters on my heels had started to bleed – YES: BLEED – into my shoes. I wasn’t sloshing around in them or anything quite so dramatic, but I could feel the warm dampness of my socks and was not amused. And the thunder, once distant, was now considerably closer. All around us were flashes of lightening – all the more alarming now that we were well above the tree line.

Up ahead I could see my mom, Tracy and Scott stop at the big rock at the base of the trail leading up to the upper basin. They had stopped to put on their raincoats, and grab a light snack. I assumed that this was as far as we were going to hike, considering the weather. But, by the time I reached the rock, my mom had started hiking up to the second basin with Scott and Tracy following closely behind.

Me: “WTF?! Where are they going? Are they crazy? We need to get below the tree line before the storm hits!”

Trevor: “Hold on. I have a walkie-talkie in my pack. Sit down on the rock and I’ll radio your mother.”

Me: “Okay. Hurry, though. They are already pretty high up.”

Trevor took off his backpack, and started to rummage through it. I took off mine as well, and pulled out an energy bar, opened it and took a small bite.

Trevor: “Can I have some?”

I nodded and handed the bar to Trevor. With disgust, I watched him shove about two thirds of it into his mouth, and hand the small, uneaten portion back to me.

Me: [Oozing with sarcasm] “Ghee, thanks.”

Trevor, completely unfazed, returned his attention to his pack, and proceeded to dig around in it – still presumably looking for the walkie-talkie.

I finished my energy bar and fed Gypsy Kitty and Haskell a couple of dog treats. All the while my mother, Tracy and Scott kept getting farther and farther away.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trevor remove a plastic baggie from his backpack with something red in the bottom. I assumed it was the beef jerky he had purchased in Durango a few days before. I found myself more than a little irritated that he was choosing to eat instead of focusing on the oh-so important task of calling my mother and our friends back down the mountain before the storm arrived.

Me: “Seriously, Trevor. They are getting farther and father away. Where is the walkie-talkie?”

Trevor: [Handing me the beef jerky…] “Here.”

Me: [Pushing his hand and jerky away…] “Hold on, Trevor. We need to stop them before they get up any higher. Plus, with my blisters, I’m not sure I can catch up.”

Trevor: “[Deals], look at me.”

And that’s when I noticed that he wasn’t holding beef jerky out at all. It was a reddish-brown box with a diamond ring inside.

It started to rain.

Trevor tried to get down on one knee, but, with the rain and rocky ground, all he really managed to do was squat on the big rock with all of our gear on it.

He took a list out of his pocket, and read me five vows he had written on a piece of scrap paper. At the end, he asked me to marry him. We were both crying.

I said, “Yes.”

We kissed. He put the ring on my finger.

Then, I punched him in the shoulder and called him an a$$hole for dragging me all the way up the mountain with bleeding blisters.

We laughed.

I looked at my finger with the shiny, new ring on it.

Trevor: “Want to take it off and put it back in the box until we get back down the mountain?”

Me: “No, I think I’d like to wear it for awhile.”

Trevor: “Well, just so you know, it is yours now. Which means you’re responsible for insuring it.”

Trevor: a TRUE romantic, no?!

It was about this time that we both remembered my mother, Tracy and Scott. They had disappeared somewhere above us on the trail. Trevor – finally producing the walkie-talkie – started trying to call Grammy Pammy.

No answer.

We tried again.

Nothing but static on the radio.

Finally, we gave up and started to climb up after them. But we didn’t get very far before the skies really opened up and water started to pour down in torrents. Luckily, there was a small cave just up ahead, and Trevor and I both ducked in there for some shelter.

Trevor told me that he had been planning this proposal for months. He had asked both of my parents two months earlier, and the ring, which he had had made for me, contained my great grandmother’s engagement ring diamond. Since I’m such a history dork, this made the whole thing that much more special. I guess I never really realized just how well Trevor knows me until that moment.


Trevor had intended to propose at Island Lake, which is in a third basin above the second. Of course, his plans were tweaked when the weather turned bad, and my attitude from the get go that morning had left a lot wanting.

I asked to see the vows he had written. In all the excitement, I couldn’t really remember what he had said. I just couldn’t believe Trevor was proposing. It was all quite unexpected, after all.

Trevor rummaged around his pack and produced a piece of scrap paper with the numbers 1-10 on it. Beside 1-5 were the vows he had read to me on the rock not long before.

Trevor: “I meant to write ten vows, but I got to five and couldn’t think of anything else.”

I was so touched that he thought of five vows that I didn’t make (too much) fun of him.

About fifteen minutes went by before my mom, Tracy and Scott finally came around the corner on their way back down the mountain. Apparently, my mother was so excited about Trevor proposing that she forgot to turn on her walkie talkie. Wanting to give Trevor space, she had mercilessly marched poor Tracy and Scott up the side of a mountain in a watery deluge. By the time Grammy Pammy relented and started back down the mountain, the trio was soaked to the bone and shivering.

Tracy, in the altitude for less than 48 hours at this point, was complaining about her wet socks. And as they approached the cave, it occurred to me that none of them – with the exception of my mother – knew what had just transpired between Trevor and me at lunch rock in the lower basin.

Me: “Hey, Tracy. Want to hear a funny story?”

Tracy: “Can it wait?”

Me: “It’s pretty funny…”

Tracy: “Why don’t you wait to tell me back at the car. My socks are all wet.”

Mom: “No! Tell us now! I want to know!”

Tracy: “But my socks…!”

Me: “I promise to be quick.”

Tracy: “[Rolling her eyes and sighing…] Okay, just be fast.”

Me: “Okay. Well, Trevor dragged me up the mountain in a thunderstorm with bleeding blisters and proposed to me.”

Tracy: “WHAAAAT?!”

Scott: “Really?!”

Mom: “What did you say?! What did you say?!”

Me: “I said, ‘Yes!’”

Much squealing ensued, mostly from my mother and Tracy.

On the way back down the mountain, everyone was joking around about the proposal and we were all planning to go out to dinner that night to celebrate the engagement.

Mom: “I only told a few people that Trevor was planning to propose.”

Me: “Like who?”

Mom: “Well, your aunt and uncles, of course. And my Tortuga Sisters and Bridge Group. Oh, and…[the list continued on for at least ten minutes]”

Me: “Is that all?”

Mom: “And I just had to tell Larry…”

Trevor: “Who is Larry?”

Mom: “My flight instructor, of course!”

Me: “Is there anyone you didn’t tell?!”

Mom: “Well, who is Larry going to tell? And it’s not like anyone told you anyway, which is what counts!”

But the real surprise came after we got back down the mountain and I called my dad to tell him the news. My father has never been known to keep a secret, but he didn’t tell anyone that Trevor was going to propose. Not a soul. Amazing.

After I told dad the news, though, my cell phone lost its signal and we were disconnected. I tried to call back immediately, but it took awhile to find a signal on the winding mountain roads between Durango and Silverton. Meanwhile, my dad went down the hallway, and told my brother the news. Of course, William wanted to know whether or not I had said “yes” – something dad and I hadn’t officially covered before getting disconnected. So, my brother had to call me and ask. I was able to confirm that Trevor and I were, indeed, engaged before my cell phone lost the signal for a second time.

Closer to Durango, I called my sister. I had always joked with her that I got married, I planned to put her in a bubble gum pink dress with matching hat, ruffles and gloves. So, when she answered the phone, I said, “You know that pink dress I want to buy for you when I get married?”

Amy: “Yeah?”

Me: “Well, I better start looking.”

Amy: “What? Why? Wait a second! You’re engaged?! OMG!”

Amy then proceeded to tell the ENTIRE world that Trevor and I were engaged in less than twelve hours. That’s Facebook for you.

Because I am neurotic and never rush into things, the wedding date and the engagement date are over a year apart. This sounded like forever when I first got engaged, but now – twelve months later – the date is nearly here.

And I've been a less than enthusiastic bride. Case in point: I refused to even LOOK at dresses until March 30th (and even then it was by accident). Luckily, the second dress I tried on was the one I bought. I hate shopping, and would have gladly worn a hand-me-down if it meant I didn’t have to try on a gazillion white gowns.

Oh, and Gypsy Kitty and Haskell? Yeah, totally in the wedding. Alley Cat isn’t, though, because – according to Trevor – two dogs are fine, but three is either, A) A Circus, or B) A Dog Park. Alas, poor Alley! Just to clarify (lest anyone think that she is the red headed stepchild dog) – it wasn’t me that refused to let her be a part of the wedding party, but Trevor. If it were up to me, I would have had two flower girls!

Combine all the wedding drama with the new house purchase, and you can imagine my mental state. I’ve committed to a lot in one year, which is really saying something considering my irrational fear of commitment. I’m looking forward to the two week honeymoon, and recovering from all the excitement!

Maybe once we get back, we will have an opportunity to finally finish settling into our new digs. Because with everything else going on, there just isn’t enough time or energy to devote to unpacking right now. And all the wedding presents that keep arriving aren’t helping either. Not that I am complaining. I’m loving all the free stuff! It is just that all the unpacked boxes piled high in the guest bedroom are a constant reminder of things yet to be done.

Just incase you didn't believe me about the blisters!

~ The End ~

On Futility...

“Futility: playing a harp before a buffalo.”

- Anonymous

There are no words to describe how it feels to write 46 thank you notes and finally make some headway with the process of putting away all the shower gifts in the “wedding present room”.

There are also no words to describe how it feels when fifteen new packages arrive in the mail the very next day, and the “wedding present room” is once again overwhelmed.

I cried before shutting the door and walking away.

Maybe I’ll try again next week.

Oh, if only Trevor and I could dance...

WATCH ME

Thong-Gate 2009...

Note to self: If Auntie Mimi asks to see a pair of naughties you received at a co-ed wedding shower, just say, “No”. Otherwise, the next thing you hear will be the laughter as she holds them up for all to see. This will promptly be followed by the passing of the unmentionables around the room. Several, older female (i.e. 70+) party goers will try in vain to figure out "where all the stringy parts go" as their husbands look on and giggle like little school girls.

Oh, and your father? Yeah, he’ll capture the whole thing on film.

Your mother will be tricked in to looking inside the pink Vicky S bag. After your sister makes a completely inappropriate comment about all the future grandbabies that may be conceived wearing such an apparatus, Grammy Pammy will turn bright red, shove the naughties back into the bag with a look of disgusted horror, and excuse herself to go to the bathroom.




Meanwhile, you will still be seated at the front of the room, beat red and completely powerless over the situation.

Dear God…

By “curvy” do you mean “fat”?

I had my first wedding dress fitting today. I’m not sure what I would have done if my friend (and bridesmaid), Mandy, wasn’t able to be there. Because, really, DO the shoes look okay with the dress? How much boobage is too much boobage? And do I really walk THAT weird in flats?

I do everything by committee nowadays.

In the end, though, only a little blood was shed (yes, blood WAS shed. A pin caught me on the way out of the dress – who said this was going to be a painless process?!), and I’m off the hook for a few weeks until fitting number two. Until then, I am under strict orders not to gain or lose an ounce. Did I mention that I tend to lose weight when under stress? When I moved in May, I lost five pounds. When I was a deb way, way, WAY back in 2001 they had to do an emergency fitting to keep me from flashing the masses during my full court bow.

Not that my physical body ever really changes. I’ve been the same size for the last fifteen years or so (yes, the aforementioned deb gown still fits) – I just randomly lose weight in areas that effect the way a dress hangs on my frame. And now that I’ve vocalized that here on my blog, my body will most likely do something else that I’m not expecting. Because my body and I are rarely on speaking terms anyway, and it likes to go traitor on me and do things to keep me on my toes. Like today, for example. My neck and upper back are killing me. Why? I dunno. But it sucks – especially when driving and changing lanes. I think it is my body’s way of reminding me that thirty is just over a year away, and my warranty ran out a good ten years ago.

Blah.

On shoes for the bridesmaids...

Despite a genetic predisposition for the love of shoes, I find myself completely disinterested in them. I'd wear my Birkenstocks year-round if I could.

So you can imagine what it was like to take me shoe shopping. Avia and Mandy deserve some kind of medal, I swear. They both have the patience of saints.

Here are some shoe possibilities from DSW:










Even though the charcoal and ivory dresses are a satiny material, I see no reason to go all out and dye shoes to match. I'd much rather have the bridesmaids buy something comfortable that they'd want to wear again. A black, strappy sandal seems like an important staple in any wardrobe. And it is not like any of the shoes will be all that visible under the floor length skirts in the first place.

I'm sure this fashion faux pas will land me an eternity in shoe shopping hell. I apologize if this post is causing any dead, famous shoe designers to roll in their graves. I guess I’m a hopeless case. I would totally have the entire bridal party in flip flops if I thought I could get away with it!

As of today…

…I am officially living in sin.

(Sigh)

Confessions of a mad woman...

June 11th, 2009 was quite the day.

Why?

Well, for one, it was Trevor and my last “dating” anniversary. Who knew we’d last seven years? And, more importantly, who knew we’d both forget about it?

To be fair, there was a lot going on that day with THE FLOOD and all. And it isn’t like we didn’t eventually remember (although, it was a good day or two before Trevor turned to me and said, “Hey, I think we forgot our anniversary!”).

Of course, I still managed to give Trevor something on our anniversary, and quite by accident, too. No, no. It was nothing dirty (get your heads out of the gutter!).

Let me set the stage:

I had just had the morning from Hell. I had been soaked to the bone, hailed on, nearly hit by a falling tree, and had returned home only to discover a leak in my new ceiling. I was – literally – at my wit’s end. And Trevor was, conveniently, nowhere to be found. I left several messages on his cell phone including the one below:

“I’m dealing with things beyond my maturity level at the moment! I need you to call me!”

Trevor found this particular message to be hilarious, and has insisted on keeping it stored in his voicemail. He also feels moved to quote the message at dinner parties, weddings and various social occasions – always at my expense. Apparently, any time used to embarrass his fiancé is time well spent.

So, I am embracing my panicked voice message, and taking ownership of the situation by posting it on my blog.

Not that there are many people left on the planet that Trevor hasn’t already told, but still. I’m taking control. Or, at least, owning up to my inability to deal (well) with certain (extraordinary) situations.

I can again hold my head high.

Or up, at any rate...

And to think I used to love working in Excel...

Wedding lists are the bane of my existence.

Seriously.

I hate them. And they are driving me insane, which is obvious from the email thread below:

From: Trevor
Sent: Monday, June 22, 2009 12:23 PM
To: Deals
Subject: Rehearsal Dinner

Do we also need to get a list together for the rehearsal dinner???

________________________________________
From: Deals
Sent: Monday, June 22, 2009 3:07 PM
To: Trevor
Subject: RE: Rehearsal Dinner

Shut up.

I mean, “yes, dear”.

I hate you.

Errrr…I mean, “I love you.”

________________________________________
From: Trevor
Sent: Monday, June 22, 2009 3:14 PM
To: Deals
Subject: RE: Rehearsal Dinner

wow.....

Yep. I’m handling with my usual grace and maturity.

Trevor is one lucky man, let me tell you.

Oh-Holy Commitment, Batman...

Yesterday was a big day.

Trevor and I bought our first home AND opened our first joint checking account.

Somehow I made it through everything without passing out or throwing up (a big deal considering how commitment phobic I am and all).

Twenty-four hours later, and I my head is still spinning...

Dear Bert, you are my hero...

This image is brought to you by ASH Designs,
the BEST Graphic Design Company in Dallas (possibly the universe).

Some traditions are better off forgotten…

From: Susan
Sent: Friday, April 24, 2009 1:56 PM
To: Deals
Subject: Wedding advice

Here’s some wedding advice I read while researching in the “Dallas Story” edition of the Daily Times Herald, Aug. 28, 1949…

“It is bad form for the newlyweds to sneak away from their wedding reception and embark on the honeymoon. They must give the guests their traditional chance to throw rice, confetti, and old shoes, says a bridal consultant.”

I do have some old shoes I need to get rid of… ;)