A Family Wedding

Did I ever tell you that my parents are from Southern Indiana? My mom's family is huge, my dad's is not. When someone in my mom's family gets married, it's a damn event.

We made a quick trip down this weekend for my cousin's daughter's wedding. She is 23, so so young, but so so smart and beautiful. I have only met her new husband a time or two, but if she picked him, he must be something special.

In the middle of the ceremony, Sam started to throw a fit. I dragged her butt out of church before trying to figure out what she was saying in that 2 year old whiny voice that is super loud and echo-y in churches. Especially Catholic churches with hardwood floors. Yeah.

As it turns out, all she wanted was to see the bride "in her pretty dress." She couldn't see because, well...she is 2, and we were near the back of the church, and there were people in front of us. So I promised her that we would see her up close and personal, and even take a picture with her. I have connections, you know.

The time came at the reception for a picture to be taken.

Please ignore my crazy eyes.



Notice how Sam was all, "Why are you making me do this?" And how she is holding someone's cell phone? That is because she realized running around like a banshee was waaay better than taking a stupid picture with a girl in a pretty dress. The cell phone was a bribe. (Shut up...you'd do it too.)

The wedding was a great time, kicked off by the bride and groom walking down the aisle at the end to the Purdue fight song. Hail, Hail to Old Purdue, All Hail to our Old Gold and Black. And yes, I sang. And clapped. And so did my mom.

I got back to the hotel about 1am after sending Workaholic home with the girls. The mother of the bride gave me a ride, which is totally normal when I look back on my childhood. My cousins were always taking care of me. Why should last Saturday be any different? Just because I am 33 years old?? (for some reason, that town brings out the drunkard in me)

I had to take this picture of an uncle of the bride with his daughter. I idolized this man when I was a kid, and I'm so happy he has a daughter to snuggle with.

In all seriousness, I had a fantastic time. And I would like to thank the family for putting on such a great shin-dig. (Sunday, however, was another story.) This is my cousin (mother of the bride) and her husband (father of the bride). And the adorable flower girl is only 3 months older than Sam, and her mom is totally fine with bribing too. (she ran down the aisle toward her new Barbie doll) 



Can you say cougar?

 Sam had so much fun, this is her when we got home on Sunday. She stole Charlie's pacifier and didn't even make it upstairs. This was after a 4 hour drive. Sampson is her best friend only when she is asleep.

I'll leave ya'll with a photo of the people who started it all, my mom and her siblings. Thanks for procreating and loving each other so much.

For My Uncles

My parents grew up in a small town in southern Indiana. My dad lived in town, while to get to where my mother grew up, you drove out of town. Past the high school, the baseball field and the church. Past the cornfields and the cemetary where my grandparents and aunts and uncles were to be buried. And you took a windy country road to the farm.

That road cut between two hills, and up on those hills were two houses that my uncles built. Every day, they drove their farm trucks down to my grandparent's house, the one they each grew up in with my mother, and met my grandfather to discuss the tasks at hand for the day for the farm.

When I was little and we would go to the farm to visit my grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins, I would drag my butt out of bed at what seemed like the crack of dawn to go to the morning meeting. I loved hearing the squeaky door open as each of my uncles and several of my cousins would come in to sit at the table or on the couches underneath the picture window that overlooked the buildings that housed hogs and hay.

I was THAT little kid, the one who wanted to tag along but not actually help do anything. And you know what? They let me. I was the baby, the youngest of the 27 grandchildren, and while the oldest of the 27 were made to help harvest corn and pick melons, as the baby I was allowed to ride in the truck and watch as they fed the cows. They let me ride the tractor, and talked to me about whatever it was I wanted to talk about. As far as I knew, they never thought twice about it.

When my first uncle passed away a couple of years ago, I vividly remember sitting a couple of rows behind his only son during the funeral Mass. And during the Sign of Peace, my cousin turned to our uncle, the one who he had worked side-by-side with most of his life, and hugged him and they both cried. In that moment of time, in that church, they alone knew what the other was feeling. Each of them knew the sense of loss the other felt from losing a loved one. Not just a brother and a father, but one that they worked next to every. single. day. They all poured their blood, sweat, and tears into the farm, and now they had to continue without him being there with them every. single. day.

My second uncle passed away last week.

As I thought about his life I couldn't help but think past my childhood. The more recent years, when he spent a lot of time with his 11 grandchildren, both on and off the farm. The vacations they took, the countless hours he sat on bleachers cheering them on in their respective sports. The absolute love he poured into his family.

Looking at the pictures displayed at the funeral home, I saw the love he had for my aunt, and the adoration she had for him. You could see it in their eyes in every picture. Whether she was gazing up at him or genuinely smiling like she was laughing, after 48 years of marriage, her smile remained the same...that of a teenage girl in love. He had an impish smile, and rarely looked directly at the camera, but usually off to the side, probably at someone who had just cracked a joke at him right before the camera flashed.

What sucks the most about death, and what struck me when I saw my cousin hugging his uncle 2 years ago, is that you don't worry about the person who has passed. You know that they are in a great place, smiling down at you and out of pain. What sucks the most about death are those who are left behind. Those who never get to feel the physical presence of their father, husband, uncle, grandpa, or brother ever again. All they have are memories, and you always wish you had had more time to make more memories.

They were taken from us too soon. Any one of my relatives will tell you that. They may have led full lives, but they are gone too soon. And now, I can't help but think of that windy country road. And those two houses, built up on hills across from each other. And the women who now live in them alone, without the loves of their lives. And that is what saddens me the most.

These two men, the men who took over the farm that my grandfather began, were great men. They led by example, much like my uncle and aunt who have also passed on to Heaven. They showed their family and friends how to behave and act like true Christians, simply by living their lives. I will never forget them, and I know that no one else will either.

Loss

Yesterday, the world lost my uncle.

My family lost my uncle.

My aunt lost her husband, my cousins lost their father, and my cousin's kids lost their grandpa.

He was only a year older than my mom.

I am sure that he got mad, but I don't remember ever seeing it. I also am sure that many of my cousins who are older than me probably did.

He worked on the farm his whole life. First with his father and his brother, and then with his nieces and nephews and his son. The stories my cousins tell of working on the farm, I am surprised anyone made it to adulthood. I am sure they are not exaggerated at all.

When I met Workaholic, I decided to bring him to a family wedding after dating a few short months. And my uncle declared himself Morality Patrol since we were all staying in a hotel. It is safe to say that nothing happened that night with MP trolling the hallways. For years after, Workaholic would refer to that uncle as Morality Patrol. (What can I say, I have a big family...it is hard to remember everyone's names.)

Last Christmas, I decided that I wanted to go to Southern Indiana for Christmas Day, just like I did as a kid. I had missed the last few years, since my immediate family celebrates on Christmas Eve, and I would spend Christmas Day with Workaholic's family.

It was a rather uneventful day, chatting it up with family and enjoying some good, home cooked dumplings. What I remember the most (as does Workaholic) is the next morning. My aunt and uncle invited us over for breakfast. What I didn't realize is that of the 27 grandchildren, I was the only one invited.

It was a breakfast for the siblings, my mom and her brothers and sisters. My youngest aunt made sausage and white rice, and scrambled eggs and biscuits and gravy. After we ate (and ate and ate) Workaholic turned to me and asked when I was going to learn to cook like that. It was damn good.

Samantha played her usual charming self and Charlie napped while we sat around the table and talked. We talked and talked. They couldn't understand why I would talk about poop on the internet, much less my own constipation during pregnancy. They didn't believe me when I told them that Elvis died of constipation. One of my aunts offered to take out her dentures, and they all asked me what was so gross about your parents having sex. (Really, you have to ask??)

It was a very nice time. I left there thinking, "I really need to get down here more often."

That was the last time I was at my uncle's house when he was alive. I will forever be grateful for them inviting me to that breakfast.

Because now? Now we all have to live with a hole in our lives. It is a very difficult concept for me to grasp, that his family will never see him again. Hug him again. Laugh with him again. His younger grandchildren won't get to really know what a great guy he was. His older grandchildren will miss spending time with him, talking sports and making him proud when they played.

We'll all miss him. We all love him. We are all better people for knowing him.

A Weekend on Campus

Paige over at Life Is A Phoenix reminded me that sometimes, you have to blog, otherwise you won't do it and you'll totally regret not writing this shit down. Or, in this case, sharing with the world.

A couple of weeks ago, we went down to Purdue for a football game and decided to take Sam along. The next day, we took our first stroll on campus as a family of five. Check out our awesome pictures...

The three of us at the game.

Sam wasn't too sure about the fountain, Fonz loves it.

Family photo courtesy of random student who didn't even try to run away with our camera!

Pondering the meaning of life.

And this is how Sam ended her weekend...totally wiped out.

(yes, she WAS weaned off the pacifier, but then Charlie came along and so she steals it whenever she gets a chance)

Thank You for My Cow

I mentioned earlier that we bought a freezer; hence the bad start to my weekend. It looks like this…

Any-hoo, we didn’t just up and decide to buy a freezer that you can store 3 dead bodies in. Nope, we did it because we bought a cow. OK, well, half a cow.

When my dad was in the hospital, my aunt and uncle came to visit while they were in town. I think they were kind of scared, because at that point he was pretty heavily drugged up and still had the turban on his head. Since he wasn’t really in the mood for talking, we sat around and bullshitted. We’re really good at that.

I have lots of aunts and uncles, and this particular pair are farmers. Like, real life farmers. They farm about 25,000 acres or something like that, and they have cows. (They used to have hogs too, but the market turned unfavorably and they stopped, which just blows my mind. That farm with no pigs???)

Aren’t they cute???? See how my aunt looks like she is laughing? She always smiles, and laughs and they are always both in a good mood. And even if they aren’t, they fake it pretty well. Must be all the fresh air they get.

So another aunt was also at the hospital, and my mom was on edge because we had six people in the Neuro ICU room and the limit is supposed to be two! (AHH!! We’re going to get kicked out!!!) And they all got talking about buying a cow or a half or a quarter, and my sister and I decided that we also needed a cow. So I bought a half a cow. And then we waited for a while.

The cows weren’t quite ready yet, so a couple of months went by, and I kept talking about how I bought a cow. And then the time came!! The slaughterhouse is just down the road, and I have visions in my head of a herd of cows wandering down this country road to their deaths. I mean, sad, but I’m OK with it, because I really like beef, and they had a good life. You know, until it was over.

My aunt promised me the best half of the best cow, but who knows if she told everyone that. Anyway, we found out that the meat was hanging, and then eventually I had to call and put in my order for how I wanted it cut. So I did, and a few days later, we got the call that all was ready. This is where it got dicey.

We thought that maybe my dad would go visit his brother and bring my meat back. And then he didn’t have enough coolers, because did you know that half a cow is 300lbs of meat??? So Workaholic decided to make a day trip of it. And whenever anyone asks him about it, he says this.

“It went fine, I was in the car for 8 hours, I was there for 10 minutes.”

Sigh…yes, I did buy a cow 4 hours away. Easier if I wasn’t 8 months pregnant in the middle of summer and worked full-time. So this blog is a shout-out to my hubby, a big THANK YOU for driving 8 hours to get my cow. Because it really isn’t like it makes much of a difference in his life, he doesn’t do the grocery shopping…he could care less if I have to stress about whether or not we have meat for dinner. But he loves me, and that is why he did it.

PS He doesn’t read my blog, so this is really me just bragging to the universe about how awesome he is. I have to do that every once in a while.

PPS Yes, we did buy a freezer to store the cow that I bought to save money. Yes, I realize that defeats the purpose. BUT, the meat is better than what you get in the store. At least that is what I am telling myself.

Wordless Wednesday

Last weekend, Sam's first time playing baseball. She was an excellant first baseman, Fonz had shortstop and most of the outfield covered. She's a natural.

Post-It Tuesday...Tough Life Lessons