Going on 23 years ago, I made my debut into their lives. It's funny, how our personalities are prevalent so early on in our lives. I was a screamer. Unhappy. I wanted to be one of the "big girls" from the second I came out of the womb. My sister's tolerated me as best as an 8 year old and a 4 year old could.
But time marches on...I grew out of it...sorta. I still scream when I'm angry, but anywho, we spent a bit of time doing this
Primping was our forte...My middle sister, Brittainy (the one on the far right) taught me how to apply my make-up, she helped me choose my clothes, taught me about style and gave me my first maxi-pads when I was 13 and too embarrassed to ask my mom (I'm sorry if my mention of maxi-pads embarrassed you, momma, "just keepin' it real")
But with three girls, there must have been cat fights, right? Oh, there were cat fights alright. There was drama. There were tears...oh buddy, was there ever drama. (and still is)
But more than any of that, there was laughter. Lots and lots of laughter. I am the goofy one. Can you tell? I often suckered my sisters into participating in all kinds of antics with me. They enjoyed it, I don't care what they say.
They were usually pretty good natured. But most of the time, I was the loud, obnoxious, bird-legged shrimp following them around, clamoring for their attention, poking my nose into their bedrooms and generally just annoying the dookie out of 'em.
I was in a constant state of melancholy when they both left for college. That's the bad thing about being the baby, you're always the last to go. And I was VERY impatient to "go"
We go through pretty much everything together, and at least one of us will be there for the other one.
Pregnancies.
Bootcamp.
New experiences...and things we don't care to ever do again.
Hasty courthouse marriages. (notice Tyler and I are the only ones that look genuinely happy?)
And even though we may disagree (which we do quite often) and we fight, and we hurt each other, and we say things we don't mean, and one of us isn't speaking to the other...one thing still remains, and it always will whether we like it (or choose to accept it) or not....
We're sisters, and aint nothin' none of us can do 'bout it.
Since it has been a crazy-go-nuts weekend, and I have had zero time to take pictures, I figured I would leave you with one of Tyler's and my favorite awkward moments. We frequently like to look back on this night fondly...then we shudder, swallow audibly and talk about the Braves.
I worked at Starbucks for two years. To say I met/worked with some interesting characters is the understatement of the century (one day I will tell you about the lady with singing Tourettes who came through my line to order a decaf, triple venti, nonfat, no foam, sugar-free vanilla, extra hot, laaaaattttteeeee!!!) Anywho...aside from the fact that I was living in dirty, rotten, but oh-so-glorious, sin with my fiance (now hubby) I was a good, church of Christ, homeschooled-through-highschool, somewhat sheltered (I say somewhat because I was stealthy. I love you mom.) girl. Hubby? Well....hubby is groomed. VERY groomed, and most of the time he is dressed head to toe in Banana Republic. 'Nuff said.
So yeah, Starbucks, right. One of my favorite people to work with was this guy that I will call Dan. Dan was really weird, and he always smelled kind of like marijuana. But I liked Dan, he was vastly intelligent, did a hilarious robot impression and when we worked together we liked to have contests to see who could make venti frappuccinos the fastest. One night he invited Tyler and me over for tacos after my night shift, I had heard rumors that Dan made a killer spicy taco, so I agreed. Hubby and I picked up a six pack and headed over.
Dan gave us directions to his girlfriends house, whom I shall call Molly. (Dan and Molly also lived in dirty, rotten sin) Hubby was hesitant, but I told him to "Be more open minded"...Molly lived in the projects, no biggee, I'm not too good for the projects...Molly lived really, really far out into the projects....no...biggee...We get to their front door and there was this little sign that said "Welcome to my coven" I got a little chuckle out of that because, well...because I was homeschooled through highschool and I thought it was one of those silly jokes like "I couldn't find my car keys so I drove my broom instead!" har har har.....?....jeez, tough crowd.
It wasn't until Dan opened the door, wearing a studded dog collar, black eyeliner and parachute pants (NOT the Starbucks uniform I was used to seeing him in) that I noticed the enormous pentagram on the wall and an interesting looking swinging device in the living room.
Hubby blanched.
Molly was a gracious hostess, and I'm sure that we had an interesting conversation...but the fact that she was wearing really big, really long chains around her neck, and black panties with fishnet pantyhose, really had me distracted from any and all conversation...there's really no telling what I prattled on about. We finally sat down to dinner, Hubby looked as if he were sitting on pine-cones. I decided to take the most obvious aspect of the room and attempt to start a normal conversation. There were books...lots of books. Floor to ceiling throughout the entire house was nothing but bookshelves. It wasn't until after I opened my big, fat, homeschooled mouth that I happened to actually look at what a lot of the books were about. Uhm....lets just say....that was an educational evening for me...Momma didn't teach me none of that in no home-skool.
Awkward silence.
Suddenly, Dan was completely overtaken by lust...it must have been the conversation starter about the books..., he jumped out of his chair, sending it flying into a bookshelf, and he began utilizing the chains around Molly's neck. He very deftly chained her to the dinner table....right on our tacos, dangit!....and he...licked her.
That was it. Hubby bolted.
Being a polite, Southern girl, I felt obligated to say something-anything-before I just chased after my hubby who was already gunning the engine of my Honda...I said something like "Man, Dan...those were great Tacos...see you at work tomorrow!..."
Incoherent moaning....
....and then I followed suit, bolting after my preppy, Banana Republic man.
In the car, I promised hubby to never ask him to be open minded again. We went home and read our bibles like good little sinners.
Just kidding on that last part, well, kind of. I prayed...hubby held himself and rocked back forth for a while.
Work was a bit awkward for me the next night. Dan was all smiles and invited us over for game night. After I got finished retching in the bathroom at the mere thought of what types of games they would be playing, I politely made up some bogus plans and lied right through my teeth.
Get your mind out of the gutter, this is about CAMPING...honestly.
I've had a lot of company lately. More on that later. My dear friend from Japan came and visited me for a couple of weeks and a few days into her trip she and I thought it would be so fun to go beach camping. With my two year old. Nevermind the fact that she had NEVER been camping before in her life and the last time I had been anything that even remotely resembled camping was when I was fifteen. My mom and dad are real crunchy folks, they like to backpack. As in rough it in the wilderness with only as much as you can carry...in your backpack.
Well it just so happened that I was smack in the prime of my teenage angst/rebellion phase, not to mention I had myself a cute little dish of a boyfriend, so they made me go with them. As in, I had my own backpack, and I was expected to carry things, like pots and pans...in my backpack.
I started my period with a vengance the very morning we were leaving. This was a two day trip. Lovely. I begged to stay home, but nope, no such luck. They knew better. (which in retrospect was probably a good thing) Period or no period, I was going. Period. (sorry had to throw that one in there, just way too easy)
So, not only was I hiking 4 miles up a mountain to a patch of dirt just so that I could sleep on the ground and hang my food up in trees so bears did not come into my tent and try to eat me....but I was also packing a ziploc bag so that I could keep any of my menstral evidence sealed up (which I also had to hang in a tree) because the scent of my blood would attract bears and they would try to eat me.
How's that for a lovely mental image?
Moving along.
So my friend and I...we wanted to beach camp. I called and reserved us a sweet campsite right on the beach at one of the most beautiful camp grounds in Hawaii, it's gated and specifically for military, so completely safe. We loaded up with everything. And I mean everything. And away we went. Two naive little suburban girls.
Oh, Lordy.
The first night into our two night trip (anybody else noticing a pattern here?!) It was about midnight and we were snuggled deep in the throngs of our air mattress, in our tent that we had so proudly pitched ourselves, when we noticed that people were walking awfully close to our tent....and even more annoying their flashlights were shining right through the nylon walls into our faces. I felt like my eyeballs were glowing like a raccoon's whenever you pass it with your headlights on. This went on ALL night long...I was getting increasingly annoyed, didn't these people sleep?! I mean what was going on all night long that had every single darned camper taking flash-lit strolls right by our heads???
I found out the next morning around 6:00 am when the wind blew the entire front half of our tent up off the ground. The only thing holding us down was us, on the air matress. I went outside, morning lips, crazy hair and all, to hammer our tent stakes back into the ground. I took a look around the area where we had pitched our tent............
We had pitched our lovely tent right smack dab in the middle of the path to the bathrooms. I can only imagine what those campers were thinking, shuffling to the bathroom to take a midnight pee, when all of the sudden their flashlight illuminates our bright yellow tent right in front of them, and most assuredly my sillouette raising up in annoyence to peep through the mesh window to see who on earth was walking by our tent this time?!
"Hey, look at me! I'm a big ole dork" I promise that's not a toupee going askew in this picture...it was just REALLY windy that day.
I have crazy hair. My mascara is dripping. The circles under my eyes are starting to resemble that Zombie movie Dawn of The Dead. I have been wearing the same tank-top for two days and it is starting to put off an odor. I am rummaging around the house like a mad woman searching for my precious Zoloft and you better dang believe there is some high dollar vodka chilling in my freezer.
Before all of you perfect mothers go and start judging me...imagine being alone, on an island, with your red-headed two year old (who by the way has the temperament of a hand grenade) Imagine trying to buy groceries, toilet paper, tampons and what-have-you with a screaming appendage who is going all kinds of exorcist in your cart, throwing things on the floor as fast as you can put them in. Imagine getting home only to realize that amid the blood curdling screams of your dear, sweet offspring you basically just grabbed things at random...coming home with an assortment of four boxes of easy mac, three Lean cuisines, a jar of pickles and...Japanese rice candy?!?! Because you had to to make a quick exit out of the grocery store, because said toddler was so far gone in the grips of her metldown that she ripped the neck of your favorite shirt open...because for the love of everything that is holy you were just grabbing things-anything so at least you would have something to show for the amount of suffering you just endured.
Imagine that. Just do it. Humor me.
If that isn't enough to make you grab your hair, rock back and forth and scream "WHY?! Why me?!" then imagine driving down the road, jamming to a great tune only to have your toddler climb up into the passenger seat...because apparently she has figured out how to unbuckle herself out of her carseat.
Yep, that's me, I fail as a mother. If it wasn't for Zoloft and life's sweet nectar I like to call vodka, why ya'll...I would surely be in jail by now and Dog himself would be posting my bail.
It's one am....and my beloved is sitting beside me, covered in toothpaste and sobbing because she is "sticky" ....because she figured out how to climb over the baby gate I use to gate her into her room at night....and played in her toothpaste while I was in the shower.
Primping was our forte...My middle sister, Brittainy (the one on the far right) taught me how to apply my make-up, she helped me choose my clothes, taught me about style and gave me my first maxi-pads when I was 13 and too embarrassed to ask my mom (I'm sorry if my mention of maxi-pads embarrassed you, momma, "just keepin' it real")
