July 11, 2016

My Guys

Aidan and Asher are, what's the word... brats. Yes, that's it!

Some days they really aren't fit for the world at large. If you need any confirmation of this fact, then please do look here. And here. Go ahead, I'll wait. 

We on the same page now? Good.

We don't pay them for doing chores so in their warped eyes we're basically human traffickers.

And I care not. Here's why.

-They half-ass the few measly chores they actually manage to perform. 

-They demand to know when they are being picked up from the after school club. Or the pool. Or Nana's. Or whatever other inhumane, <sarcasm font> torture filled hostel <sarcasm font> they've been banished to. 

-They want an in detail accounting of our reasoning for any answer they do not like, especially no.

-They mouth off (or sass mouth as Little Sister says).

-They do whatever the hell they want to, with an astonishing sense of impunity.

Who told these kids they have rights?!?! said The Brute, one particularly difficult evening in his early child rearing days.

And I'm like, "well, hell, I guess I did." 

But we keep them around because they say shit like "Can we go to Quaker Steak and Loo"? They love "hoy cookies" and "stilled water". Sometimes they clean the house and give Brody a bath while we are at the store without being asked to. And also because they're cute AF, y'all. I'm pretty sure that's how the majority of kids survive to adulthood. Just a theory of mine.

July 8, 2016

It's Both Over and Just Begun

BAM, y'all! Who survived planning her own wedding? This bitch.

And that's all well and good but when you hear what a cluster fuck everything up until the ceremony started was, you'll be all whoa, Amanda, you're my hero. And a little insane.

The reception was to be in our back yard. So there was mucho back yard renovations going down. I'm talking ripping up trees, laying sod, deck work, brick work, patio lights, repainting of all exterior buildings... It was like Yard Crashers only suckier because we had to do it all. Well, us and our slave, Quan. I'll explain that later.

Cut to the week of our wedding. It's raining. And forecast to rain all through the week into our wedding day. All venues are outdoors. You see what's coming here? I went a little crazy. And when I say a little crazy, I mean I lost my shit in every way you can imagine one losing her shit.

Do ya think there was a canopy to be rented in the entire Omaha metro area? Oh no. Why would there be?

Other venues? Oh sure, because booking a decent wedding venue the Wednesday before a Saturday wedding happens all the time. Right? You wish. Okay, you don't care but I wished.

Fine, we decide, the ceremony can be in the damn rain if need be. It's 20 minutes and really, this is me and the Brute we're talking about; rain on our wedding day would be fitting. We've managed this long doing things the hardest way possible so why the hell not?

The reception though, sweet Mother Mary, that cannot be in the rain. I had made center pieces with candles and all these decorations... nothing would survive the rain. We cannot fit all these people in our house and even if we could, we didn't spend the last three months preparing the inside of the house for a wedding reception so no, I'm sorry but inside our house isn't an option.

The Brute had mentioned a while back that we should just go to a bar because we like to drink and fuck it, it would be easy. So we did. We booked the upper room in our favorite downtown bar, they catered, and we had a bomb ass reception - if I do say so myself. And I do. Say so myself, I mean. It was fun. And very us. And perfect.