You have a baby . . . in a bar . . .

9:47 pm ByFiled UnderMarriage, Parenting, Family & Friendship, Memories & Stories, Uncategorized

Bar

About a year ago the former buffet-turned-thrift store a mile down the road opened as a new restaurant. Its bright sign announced it as “Buck’s: KC’s Original BBQ & Italian Restaurant.” The establishment’s mascot-slash-logo is an unusually muscular male deer.

It didn’t exactly seem like my kind of place.

First of all, Buck’s? I don’t know if you’re aware, but Kansas City has a few other BBQ and Italian restaurants. As in, famous ones.

Second of all, thank you for featuring such a macho buck on your sign. Had I been confused about what kind of customer you were looking for, this would have certainly cleared it right up.

Strangely enough, my husband and I have different opinions on both of the above points. He’s of the opinion that Buck’s might just be the first one bold enough to offer both BBQ and Italian food under one Kansas City roof. And since the day it opened, he’s been convinced that he is, indeed, the type of person who would enjoy such a place. We’ve had many rounds of this conversation:

Mary: Fine, let’s just go out. Where do you want to go?
Mark: Well, we could try that Buck’s.
Mary: Um, NO.

Last month, I realized I hadn’t used a Restaurant.com gift certificate I’d earned from Swagbucks. When I saw that I could buy a gift certificate to Buck’s, I decided to be An Awesome Wife and buy it for Mark’s birthday.

He had to work the night of his birthday, but we had time for dinner together. After we gave him a cute daddy card and a mushy husband card, we surprised him with dinner at Buck’s.

And it was Not Awesome.

First of all, we could smell the grease when we got out of the car in the parking lot. Second of all, we could smell the smoke – the stale smoke – when we opened the door.

But I was determined to be An Awesome Wife, so I didn’t complain. After we ordered our food (and suspicious sounding – and, to be honest, looking – BBQ Nachos), we sat at our table. In between birthday hugs, Annalyn was pointing out everything of interest in this new-to-us restaurant.

  • “Look, Mommy! They have bottles of water!” (Also known as wine coolers.)
  • “Oh noooo! He’s got a smoker! It’s going to stink!” (Yes, the man was lighting a cigarette.)
  • “Aghhhh! I can’t breathe! It smells so baaaad!” (The bathroom did smell strongly of sewage.)
  • “Look! They’re playing a game!” (Pool.)
  • “Yay! He hit the ball!”
  • “Are they married?”
  • “Did the boy win? Why did the girl win?”

Luckily, our fellow patrons of what had turned out to be much more bar than grill were amused by my innocent and mouthy little girl and not offended. Unluckily, my dinner was neither BBQ nor Italian and could be better classified as “bar food.”

After wolfing down his BBQ (which was, reportedly, very good), Mark headed off to work, while Annalyn and I went home for the night. The moment we walked in the door, we stripped off our smoky clothes, made our way into jammies and turned on the music for a dance party before bed.

Because after that night it seemed apropos to jam to a little Lynyrd Skynrd.

(As in Sweet Home Alabama. As in the song and the movie. As in the source of my title’s quote. In case you didn’t catch that.)

All right, put your Mom of the Year candidacy aside and tell me: Have you ever had “a baby . . . in a bar”?

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There’s no place like home.

10:11 pm ByFiled UnderMarriage, Parenting, Family & Friendship, Memories & Stories

Clockwise, from top left: Riding a “very scary” ride at Sesame Place; standing at the bottom of the “Rocky steps,” which yes, they did run up; thrilled to be seeing Elmo’s World live; meeting Elmo; talking to a First Amendment monument.

Alternative title: Giving Up on a Perfect {Vacation}

Last week, we flew to Philadelphia for a family vacation before Relevant. The reasoning was not that we’d always dreamed of visiting Philly, but that flying to Pennsylvania for a conference was pricey so we might as well make that our family vacation.

No matter where we are, though, the point of any time off is to spend time together. And no matter how many [AHEM] adventures we had while out of town, we did have a great time together.

But you want to hear about the adventures, right? Right?!

We flew out on Saturday, and everything went smoothly. I even managed to find healthy snacks at the airport for Annalyn and me. Trying to find a Mexican restaurant for dinner that night didn’t go so smoothly, though we did get an unexpected tour of some part of Philadelphia.

[Side note: The unfulfilled search for Mexican food was a theme that lasted the entire week. Do people not eat Mexican food in Philadelphia? I don't know. I realize Missouri is closer to Mexico, but really? I practically wept with joy when I discovered a lovely Mexican restaurant in the airport before flying home. Never have chips, salsa, beans and chicken tacos tasted so good!]

Sunday was our day for visiting Sesame Place. I honestly don’t know who was more excited – Annalyn or me! (Mark was not excited, but was a good sport.) It was a wonderful, beautiful day. The weather was perfect. The character breakfast was awesome (although Annalyn was disappointed to realized Elmo would not actually be sitting at our table and eating breakfast with us). The rides were fun – and didn’t make me motion sick (sadly, this is a valid concern even on kiddie rides). In short, it was amazing.

And then there was Monday. (Monday, Monday, can’t trust that day . . .)

My plan for Monday was to visit historic Philadelphia. History isn’t my thing, but it is Mark’s. And considering he had just endured a full day of the world of Sesame Street, I figured it was only fair. Plus, I was really hoping for more National Treasure and less tenth grade history class.

It was most certainly NOT National Treasure.

We drove to downtown Philadelphia shortly before lunchtime on Monday. We didn’t want to pay for a parking garage, so Mark circled a few blocks until he found an open spot on the street. As he pulled up to the curb, I noticed a sign and said, “Oh, we can’t park here! It’s a towing zone.” Mark said, “We’re fine. It says 7 to 9 a.m.”

We parked, went to the visitor’s center, got lunch (including the requisite cheesesteak, which Mark said was delicious. I don’t like cheesesteaks no matter what city they come from, but the fries and my club sandwich were awesome.), then headed to Independence Center. After realizing how incredibly boring the tour guide was, witnessing him yelling at a family with a little boy and telling them to keep him quiet or take him outside, and watching my own child slowly hit I’m-missing-my-naptime meltdown stage, Annalyn and I left Mark to enjoy the rest of the tour alone. Next we went by the Liberty Bell and speed walked through the visitor’s center. And then? We were done. It was time to go back to the hotel. So we walked back to the car.

And it wasn’t there! It turns out that sign also declared our parking spot a towing zone between 3 and 5 p.m. Guess what time it was? Yeah . . . 3:45 p.m. I will keep this LONG and painful story [kind of] short, but here’s the gist of it:

A very nice man in the visitor’s center got me the number to the Philadelphia Parking Authority (and told me to stop crying). I called them and was told that not only did I have to pay MY towing fine, but I also needed to pay the two other unpaid tickets on the car. I’m guessing those unpaid tickets are what prompted the PPA to tow OUR car and not others parked on the same street. Next, I called Thrifty, where we’d rented the car.

Oh, Thrifty. You know how they say, “You get what you pay for”? Yeah. They are right.

After several calls and a lot of time [fuming] on hold, we got a cab and went to the impound lot. I paid OUR fine after a kind parking authority employee took pity on me. I stood in lines, smiled awkwardly at the other fuming and frustrated people waiting to reclaim their vehicles. I spent quite a long time talking to customer service at Thrifty and stood in some more lines. Mark and Annalyn walked to IKEA across the street for a potty break. (Oh, the agony! Finally I find myself in proximity to the giant furniture store – and I’m foiled! Foiled by the Philadelphia Parking Authority! And a cranky husband and four-year-old!) Then, finally, I thought it was my turn to get the car back.

That’s when Thrifty finally informed me that their policy is that, even if you pay your fine, customers who get their rental car towed don’t get the rental car back. In other words, we were stranded in a [slightly scary, if you must know] city without a rental car.

Thankfully, an Enterprise was located just around the corner, and Mark called right before they closed. We ended up with a nicer car and a renewed appreciation for good customer service. And an adventure.

We went on to have a fantastic vacation that included a whirlwind day in New York City, a run up the steps at the Philadelphia Museum of Art (ala Rocky, of course), and lots of family time.

I discovered this week that Thrifty has now charged me $400 more than they should have, so the “adventure” continues. But even that can’t ruin this year’s vacation. It was far from perfect, yes. We blew our budget and got lost in the mean streets of Philadelphia more than once. In the end, though? Our less-than-perfect vacation was exactly what we needed and better than I could have imagined.

Have you ever had a vacation disaster of towed-rental-car proportions? Or worse? (I realize much worse things could happen, but I certainly hope none of them have happened to you!)

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The Trouble with Traveling

4:41 am ByFiled UnderMemories & Stories, Uncategorized

Farewell to good old times 2

Two weeks ago, I got up early to finish packing. I double-checked my bags for the cords to charge my phone, my camera, my computer – and I made sure to drop my bottle of Dramamine in my purse. I pointed my husband to the itinerary I’d printed out, highlighted and stuck to the fridge. Then I piled everything – luggage, purse, daughter – in the car and headed to the library.

See, I had to stop at the library because a book I’d requested had finally come in, and I wanted to have it for my flight. After we – almost literally – ran in the library and back out again, I drove to my daughter’s preschool where I unloaded my child, her bag and her car seat. I reminded her teacher again that a friend would be picking her up, and then I dashed back to my car to dig my cell phone out of my carry-on.

I drove immediately to the gas station, because of course my car was on empty, then I returned the call I’d missed between the library and the preschool. As I frantically tried to remember the quickest route to the airport, I talked with a client about a freelance project that needed to be started – and finished – that very same day. Remembering that the other highway was the one I needed to take, I turned around at an exit and began making up time while furtively keeping an eye out for policemen with scanners.

My shuttle from the parking lot to the airport left immediately, and I barely had to wait two minutes to check my big bag. As I skidded through security and finally started breathing again, I realize that my flight had actually been delayed.

That’s the cue for any normal person to calm down and relax, but I am not a good flyer. And now I had a freelance project to work on, and my layover I’d planned to work through was now shorter. Plus – and here was the real kicker – I’d already taken my Dramamine, and I was pretty sure its groggy-but-at-least-you’re-not-puking effects would wear off by the time I boarded my second flight.

The flying part of my day is the part you’d really rather fast forward through, because thankfully, it was uneventful. I did not puke (a real fear), nor was I made to purchase an extra seat for being too wide (another real fear). I did, however, laugh so hard while reading my book that I was shaking – and clearly the person who looks crazy – on my first flight.

Jessica and Adeline kept me company on the second leg of my journey, and we met Kristen and Heather at the airport. And then . . . then, we headed out to the parking lot to find our ENORMOUS van that we’d be driving two (THREE) hours that night.

And by “we’d be driving,” I mean that I WOULD BE DRIVING. Yes, I was the last one to call “not me!” and that, apparently, is the same as volunteering. So, despite having never driven anything larger than a Ford Explorer, I hopped into the van and put it in reverse.

[Okay, I "hopped" in after laughing hysterically and then making someone else load my suitcase into the van. And I put it into reverse verrrry slowly and made my friends talk me out of the parking space one scary foot at a time.]

The rest of our trip included navigating the narrow streets of downtown Charleston to pick up Tsh and Melissa, using a variety of technologies to find a place to eat (although, of course, we ignored Yelp’s recommendations and stopped at the first Chick-fil-A we saw), and driving on state highways (which are NOT interstates, lest you imagine me kicked back and cruising at breakneck normal speeds) IN THE DARK.

Then? Then we arrived on the island, which for some reason seemed even darker than the lowcountry we’d been driving through. “Some reason” turned out to have something to do with sea turtles, the moon and migration. Turtles! We were driving [practically, if you don't count our headlights, which worked just fine] BLIND because of turtles!

After several U-turns and roundabouts and one incident that involved a tiny road, a small body of water and at least one blogger shouting, “Stop! Don’t go any further! I HEAR WATER! {There are ALLIGATORS HERE!!!}”

For the record, I had all four wheels on pavement. But that road WAS quite narrow. And dark. You’re WELCOME, turtles!

Finally we found our beach house. I parked the big white van, and we spilled into the house next door. As soon as we walked in, all I could hear was laughter and screams and “It’s so good to see you!!!”

I think I hugged some people. I know I stood at the doorway, a little stunned by the overwhelming GIRL-ness of it all, and then I collapsed on the couch next to Robin.

And THAT is the trouble with traveling. Specifically . . . the traveling part. The packing and the leaving my family and the making my flight and the delays and checking my luggage (and praying it doesn’t weigh too much) and the security checks and the DRIVING A BIG VAN and the feeling grimy and the motion sickness and the not-knowing-where-I’m-going-ness.

But the rest of my trip? The reading two new books and the walking around an airport by myself and the laughing with girlfriends and the palm trees and the ocean and the nice restaurant and the photo shoots and the sitting and talking on the beach as the sun goes down? THAT was incredible and an amazing gift (thank you, Hilton Head!) – and TOTALLY worth the stressful traveling!

The bigger gift, though – if it can get bigger than a beautiful house on the beautiful beach? – was the part that I went for: the hugs and the secrets shared and dreams discussed and smiles and tears and planning and celebrating. That is what I’m going to tell you about next.

How do you feel about traveling? Do you enjoy the journey as much as the destination?

DaySpring and Hilton Head Island Chamber of Commerce hosted the (in)courage bloggers for a long weekend of dreaming, praying, and planning for the (in)courage community, along with relaxation and fun. Resort Rentals of Hilton Head Island generously provided beautiful beach front accommodations. DaySpring took care of all the incidentals and meals for each of the bloggers. If ever you’re looking for a family vacation destination, this is it! Special thanks to Jessica Gardo from the Hilton Head Island Chamber of Commerce for helping coordinate our trip and being simply fabulous the entire weekend.

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We Will Remember

8:21 am ByFiled UnderMemories & Stories

Three years ago I wrote about my memories from September 11. They’re nothing compared to those who lost so much, and they don’t even begin to describe the uncertainty, the confusion, the dread we all felt that day. But they are my memories.

This morning as I pulled up that post to re-publish it, a song we sang in choir, We Will Remember, kept running through my head. Yes, we will remember.

We Will Remember
by Tommy Walker

CHORUS
We will remember we will remember
We will remember the works of Your hands
We will stop and give You praise
For great is Thy faithfulness

VERSE
You’re our creator our life sustainer
Deliverer our comfort our joy
Throughout the ages You’ve been our shelter
Our peace in the midst of the storm

VERSE
With signs and wonders You’ve shown Your power
With precious blood You showed us Your grace
You’ve been our helper our liberator
The giver of life with no end

VERSE
When we walk through life’s darkest valleys
We will look back at all You have done
And we will shout our God is good
And He is the faithful one

BRIDGE
Hallelujah hallelujah
To the one from whom all blessings flow
Hallelujah hallelujah
To the one whose glory has been shown

VERSE
I still remember the day You saved me
The day I heard You call out my name
You said You loved me and would never leave me
And I’ve never been the same

————————-

[Originally posted on September 11, 2008.]

Where Were You?

I was driving to my temp job, running late as I often do, when I heard the news.

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was in my car trying to beat traffic on my way to the Pitch office. Pitch is an alternative newspaper, and I was temping in their accounting office. My duties including fun projects like filing and answering the phone, but it was a week of guaranteed pay, something my recent-graduate bank account needed desperately.

The radio station I was listening to must have had a TV nearby, because they began talking about the first tower being hit immediately. At first, I wasn’t concerned or even interested. It seems crazy to think about that now, but the truth is, I didn’t realize it was such a big deal. Quickly, I realized this was not a “normal” accident and that something bad was happening.

Now my heart was pounding, and not just because I was late for work.

I told myself to calm down. After all, I was going to the best possible place – a newspaper office. Surely, if anyone would know what was happening, they would.

But when I got to the office – yes, a few minutes late – nobody had heard. And when I tried to tell the people in the accounting office, they didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation. I even suggested that we turn on a radio, but they didn’t.

I realized then how silly I’d been, thinking of this as a regular newspaper office. I wasn’t at a major daily; I was in the accounting office of an opinion paper.

They finally realized what was going on and did turn on the radio. As we heard about the second tower and the Pentagon, I sat on the floor of the office and filed, numb and scared. A few people started crying and called relatives or friends who lived in New York and DC. One girl found out that her cousin had missed the train and therefore, was late to work. He was supposed to be in one of the Towers, but he wasn’t.

As I covered the receptionist desk over lunch, I sat glued to the radio. I looked online for news, but back then, the information highway was just a four-lane, you know? I listened to the radio news announcers tell us what the President was doing, and I wondered why they would share that information with the whole world.

And I sat there, wondering if I should ask my temporary co-workers if they’d like to pray. Sure, I didn’t know them and they seemed to have very different values than I do. But maybe today would be what it took for them to turn to God.

Um, yeah. I was too scared to suggest anything like that. After all, they had already rejected my original idea to turn on the radio. How could I even think about asking them to pray?

So I didn’t. I prayed, of course. But I didn’t take that opportunity to talk about serious things with these people I would know for just five days.

That’s where I was. Where were you?

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Yearbooks, Passion and the Way God Made Me

4:45 am ByFiled UnderFaith, Inspiration & Deep Thoughts, Memories & Stories

At my high school, we received our annual yearbooks the fall following each school year. So, I didn’t get my hands on the book that commemorated my freshman year of high school until the fall of my sophomore year. That was annoying in a pre-Facebook era, when we were anxious to see who was featured on the most pages and which embarrassing photos made it to print.

But it could also prove awkward when deciding what – and how much – to write when signing certain people’s books. After all, the summer was long. Three months was plenty of time to fight with your best friend, break up with your boyfriend, fall in love with a new friend or boyfriend, or completely forget how awesomely you bonded with your chem lab partner.

I’ll be the first to admit that my high school years – while certainly full of the typical adolescent angst – were in many ways blessed. I had (for the most part) the same group of great friends throughout all four years, and my now-husband was my only boyfriend. But that didn’t stop me from experiencing – or, in some cases, creating – drama. Oh, no, it didn’t.

For several years, starting in junior high and ending much later than I want to admit, I had a crush on a certain boy in my class. And in our freshman year, we sat next to each other in one of our classes and developed a friendship.

[Of course it was a friendship. I was definitely the girl who was considered a friend.]

We were pretty close. Or, at least, I thought we were. So when it came time to sign yearbooks the next fall, I took his book to class with me. Because I needed more time for signing than the three minutes between bells allowed.

A couple hours later, we met up to return each other’s books. Immediately, I flipped through my already-worn pages to find what he’d written. As I saw the two lines that likely included the words “stay cool” or “You’re so smart…and a great friend,” my heart sank.

I would have given my Dean Cain locker poster to take back what I’d done. Because I had covered an ENTIRE PAGE in my friend’s book.

Ack! I knew the rules. Entire pages were reserved for best friends and actual girlfriends. The girl you exchanged notes with in English class but had no real interest in dating? She had a four-line limit and should really keep it the margins of the less-important pages. You know, perhaps the pages dedicated to French Club or future business leaders? But definitely not the one blank page inside the back cover.

So embarrassing.

But, honestly, not so unusual for me. I have always tended to fall hard and fast for a lot of things – boys, friends, TV shows, new curtains – and inevitably find myself on the “feels more deeply” side of things. I can’t help it, though. I’m a passionate person. It’s just the way God made me.

For more ramblings about the way God made me (and my family’s love of country music), check out this month’s post at (in)courage.

Image Source: liketotally80s.com via Elizabeth on Pinterest

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