The Not-Uncomfortable Baby Shower

I know. The title of this post is a double negative. I know what this means in writing terms. I am aware of what I am doing. At least-I am aware of what I am doing right here, right now. Ask me again in five minutes and my mind may have wandered to some far-off place that is filled with baby anxiety, onesies and tiny socks.

Anywho-I want to address the title as both a double negative in writing terms but a title that is a positive point to my weekend. Let’s add up these positive points:

(1) There were no tiny sandwiches and I bought huge paper plates. (3 points, plus 10 bonus points). This allowed me to eat A LOT.
(2) There were both men and women involved, allowing for easy conversations and a party atmosphere. (5 points)
(3) There was a lot of leftover food-which I am still munching on. (4 points)
(4) It was at my house where I feel most comfortable using the bathroom ten gazillion times. (7 points).
(5) My parents, friends and family all chipped in and helped to pull off this large event. (17 points)

(6) People either lied to me or they did really have a good time. Even the ones that were hoodwinked by their female spouses to attend a “19th century lecture on Russian politics”, only to find out it was a baby shower. (3 points for hoodwink creativity, 5 points for the husband not holding a grudge to the hoodwinker).
(7) The food “made up” for being hoodwinked by aforementioned person. (2 points)
(8) There were no awkward baby shower games. (100 points)

(9) I got to see so many people I care about in one blow, opening up my calendar for the next month.
(18 points plus 2 points for not feeling guilty about this fact).
(10) I didn’t wear shoes-the whole night. (60 points).

That comes up to a grand total of….anyone have a calculator and a non-prego brain? Please answer below.

The Aftermath, The Mustaches & The Firefighter

Ah…the dust has settled. Everyone has gone home and the house is empty (save for two little naughty cats). But all the signs of a good party are visible.

Blueberries are smashed into my rug, mustaches are attached to every surface in our house, and our backyard still looks like a daycare center.

And, I arm wrestled a man and won.

True to Bicep’s style, he didn’t want to make his graduation into a “big deal”.

But, if you’re going to at least make it “a deal“, why not a “big deal”?

After all, Biceps has worked his bunz off for the last five months to not only graduate, but graduate number 1 in his class-both in academics and physical fitness. And-he was the “old guy” in the group. What a stud.

(Sorry, but a lady’s got to brag on her man every once in awhile.)

With the help of friends and family, we made it a “big deal”. There was a lot of food…

…and a lot of mustaches involved.

I mean a lot of mustaches.

Mustaches have been found on my mirrors, milk cartons and inside kitchen cabinets.

Our friends have a bizarre sense of humor.

And what’s a party without a few games to entertain the young (and the young at heart)? For several days, I sawed, sanded, sewed and painted three outdoor games-with firefighting themes, of course.

I think I might have had more fun creating the games than anyone had playing them. I giggled as I sewed up the dummy for the “Dummy Drag” and laughed outright as I hung a plywood cat up in a tree for the “Ladder Climb”.

I’m sure my neighbors think I’m bizarre, too.

Bicep’s parents hand-made dozens of mustaches to hang from the ceiling, along with this city scene-complete with tiny mustaches climbing a ladder.

I’m pretty sure making it a “big deal” was the way to go.

Congratulations, Biceps. I’m so proud of you.

Mustaches, Graduations and Parties

For the past five months, Biceps and I have been living under a rock–and today it’s over. It’s about time we get out and see some sunlight. Our vitamin D is precariously low.

Biceps has been busy putting out fires, studying every spare minute, climbing tall ladders, coming home drenched in sweat and water, while I did all the things a house needs doing.

And today, he graduates from the Tulsa Fire Academy.

(This is the picture we used for his graduation party invitation. Pretty, isn’t it?)
Biceps goes from a “cadet” to a full-fledged “firefighter” with all the pomp and circumstance a fire department can muster up.

Lots of mustaches will be seen and worn today.

(That’s Biceps second in the hose line. He’s cute even in bunker gear….)
After the graduation, we’ve invited our family and friends over to celebrate with us. Of course, I got crazy with the “party” concept.

Mom and I have been cleaning, cooking, creating party games, painting, cutting out mustaches and flames…and then flopping into bed every night.

I will admit to passing out at 8pm on Wednesday night. It’s true. This reformed rock musician wife, whose evenings used to begin at midnight, called it quits before my Grandma would.

Lame.

(Bicep’s is in this shot…somewhere…I think…)
But, all the plotting, planning and work has been totally worth it. Biceps is graduating and it’s time to celebrate-with mustaches, lots of mustaches, of course.

Watch out world. Firefighter Biceps is here.

Spicy Chili, Spicy Night

An Italian, a cat and a chef walk into a bar. The bartender said, “What’ll it be?” The Italian said, “Red Wine, from my home country.” The cat said, “2% Milk, on the rocks.” The chef said, “Everything you’ve got. I have a party tonight and the more they drink, the better my food tastes.”

Buh-duh-schhhh….

Ok, so that was lame. Ok, so I made it up. And yes, I know telling jokes is not my forte. But now you’ve seen a glimpse of the real, lame-oid Rebekah. Tah-dah.

This is what happens to your humor if you get up at 5am to start cooking chili. It gets weird, then it gets strange, then it gets bad.

I ended up on bad.

I had a few people (hah!) over to the house this weekend and thought it would be fun to serve up a ton of chili, cornbread muffins and call it a day. I started off with a simple recipe that grew into a complicated mathematical equation in order to serve 60.

Ground Beef-check. 10 Pounds-check. Drain the fat-check.

Open up 26 cans of beans-check.

Consider buying an electric can opener-check.

Chop up 15 yellow onions-check.

Scavenge garden for peppers, chop up, seal in ziplock bags and don’t rub eyes-wish I could say “check” here.

Cook for at least an hour utilizing the capacity of your canners because none of your real pots are big enough. Don’t allow chili to burn on the bottom-again, wish I could say “check”.

Have a nervous breakdown, pour the contents of the chili out of the canners into at least 7 other smaller pots, scrape the burnt beans off of the bottom, scrub pot for at least 30 minutes, taste chili, confirm it doesn’t taste burnt, transfer back into the canners and turn down heat-check.

Make 60 cornbread muffins-check.

Cut up 2 lbs of carrots and 3 celery bunches-check.

Clean house-check.

Have a glass of wine-double check.

Wait for guests to arrive. Enjoy the night-check.

Eat the leftover chili for the next week-check.