Amongst other things, we managed to squeeze in a trip to the pumpkin patch over the weekend. It was pretty much a repeat of last year, excepting the fact that instead of Porter being carried around in the backpack without a coat on, this year he spent the majority of the time running around without any shoes on. About all we are missing is a family member named Cleetus, and a hound.
Monthly Archives: October 2007
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Single White Toddler Male seeking companion who doesn’t need much sleep. Must enjoy being ordered around, and be physically capable of carrying 25-27 pounds for extended periods of time. Must be tolerant of miscellaneous dependency issues such as (but not limited to), security blanket, thumb-sucking, and a mild-to-moderate dry cereal and granola bar addiction. Although I am both height challenged and lacking in fine motor skills I refuse to employ the use of any sort of high chair, booster seat or tippy cup. Other quirky habits include refusing to sit down in the bathtub, eating things I find on the ground, playing in toilets and throwing up without warning (although I do this much less these days). I am totally into horses, although I refuse to actually touch one – however, I will require that you haul me out to the fence numerous times throughout the day and stand there while I look at them. I have been told that I am a really good dancer, and I am able to run really really fast – usually when no one is looking, and usually towards places I have no business being. I am wicked cute, but do have some anger issues. And watch out, because I have 16 teeth and I am not afraid to use them. Oh, and I can identify all the major parts on my body, just be careful when you ask me to identify your eye, because I will probably jab my finger in it. There will probably be some language barriers, but I do know all the animal sounds and can easily identify my Mama and Dada. For everything else, I will just point and yell. And when that doesn’t work, I will use my chubby little fingers to grab your hand and drag you where I need you to go.
If this sounds like something you would be interested in, look no further because I’m your man.
Lovin’ Life, Lovin’ You
For the remaining three of you out there who may not have heard, my little sister got married last weekend. The only possible reason I can come up with for NOT knowing about it is because you were in another country, trapped under something heavy, or too engrossed in the minute-by-minute Britney updates to realize that the wedding of the century was nigh. And, if you think this was one of those meringue dressed, love-and-obey affairs with seating charts and chicken dances you would be oh so sadly mistaken. If I’m not mistaken, I think the DJ was actually given explicit instruction to chloroform anyone who even mentioned the letters Y, M, C or A.
No, this was the type of affair where the wrong outfit was going to send you packing. These people don’t mess around. I was even given a not so gentle, “I hope you brought something else” when I pulled out my jeans to wear for the “getting ready” part of the day. Set foot in Blackhawk wearing jeans, and the snipers will see to it that you never make that mistake again.
And yet for all the prim and properness of the venue, the event was exactly the kind of affair you would expect from the couple who actually had Vince Neil on their guest list. The ceremony was fun and lively, and although the whole thing was punctuated with the obligatory “you may now kiss your bride”, it was seemingly irrelevant considering they had been smooching on each other the whole time. Beyond that, it had all the makings of a memorable ceremony: Thad forgot his lines, Stella forgot to throw her flowers, we, the two bridesmaids, cried the entire time and everyone cheered as the bride and groom danced their way down the aisle to Dean Martin crooning That’s Amore!
As you will see from the following photo sets, they were taking a pretty big gamble allowing the lot of us into this place. We all started out respectable enough at the rehearsal dinner, however things started getting pretty crazy at the after-party at the hotel. (For those who may be wondering, the hawaiian-shirted man in this series is my uncle Chris who refuses to ever take a serious photo, and spent the better part of the evening trying to convince those who did not know otherwise that he was a meteorologist with webbed, flat feet.) Then, of course there were the series of photos from the day that would not be forgotten. And it never will.
Congratulations, Sis!