Mike and I got married about five months ago. A month later we took a nine-day trip to St. John. We spent Labor Day weekend in Southern California for a friend's wedding. In between all that we spent two weekends in College Station (one for a wedding shower and one for a football game), one weekend in Taylor, TX for a BBQ Festival, one weekend in Austin for a bachelorette party, two weekends in New Braunfels—one for a concert and one for our nephew's first birthday party. When we were in town we hosted parties, threw parties, attended parties, celebrated this or that. In all honesty, we've been on the go for the last five months.
I have loved every second of it and Mike, well, he was there, too.
But this weekend we stayed put.
Friday night I met a friend for dinner, before grabbing some Marble Slab with Mike. (Sweet cream! With strawberries! Kiddie size! Thank you flex points!)
On Saturday, we went out to Fort Woof Dog Park* for Barktoberfest. Now, Mike and I had recently discussed how—over the last five months—Molly has been schlepped between grandparents, ignored by her actual parents, holed up indoors and, what's more, her squirrel got a massive hole in his crotch recently and is out of commission until the hospital re-opens. (Read: until her parents get their lazy butts to Target to replace the squirrel because mom doesn't sew.) It was time for a nice family outing. I got wind of Barktoberfest and visions of our dog frolicking among hundreds of her new best friends instantly began dancing in my head. Because, you know, I'M OUT OF MY MIND. Please forgive me when I say, Molly? Was an asshole at Barktoberfest. OK, so she wasn't as bad as that highly nervous whippet, and she couldn't have been cuter if she tried, but our only child was a bit overstimulated. First a Golden Retriever stuck his tongue DOWN HER THROAT before running off to make-out with a Border Collie (making her feel—understandably—a bit confused and upset), then a small child sort of rammed into her while screeching "GREYHOUND! GREYHOUND!", and finally a pug pranced by us wearing her exact same costume. But she did get to frolic—making her mama quite happy—in the off-the-leash section of the park. She also nabbed a FREE spooky Halloween bandanna. Not to mention! She found another vizsla! And they became best friends! And she got about 18 free treats!
I like this picture because it accurately shows how Molly thinks the leash is merely a suggestion and Mike thinks next year's Barktoberfest should have kegs.
Saturday night Mike and I spent at least an hour in Target, purchasing a garbage can, champagne, TV trays, Halloween cupcakes, detergent and other random things we absolutely did not need but Pay Day combined with the crack Target distributes through their air vents made it impossible to say no to. Then we went to Big Fish on Main Street for dinner. And we took in a few hours of Pushing Daisies after we came home. I'm trying to think of a funny way to tell the story of how—after I had left the room for that previously mentioned date with Google Reader—my husband barrel rolled out of the chair to show that he still "has it." (Nope, turning thirty isn't bothering him a bit.) Unfortunately (as I learned through the reenactment) something went terribly wrong mid-roll and for the next thirty minutes I had to massage the "horrible pain" out of his shoulder. I suppose idiot stunts are better than, say, a hooker, right?
Sunday I saw Elizabeth: The Golden Age with my mom and then napped the afternoon away, as spending a third of one's checking account balance and chasing a socially awkward dog/lobster around a park can—indeed—drain you. (Something tells me motherhood is going to kick my ass.) Sunday night we went to Coal Vine with Mike's parents.
As we were cleaning on Sunday night (fine, while Mike picked up and I browsed eBay for makeup) it dawned on me that I've felt so restless at home these last few months because I haven't been home these last few months. Mike is absolutely my home, of course. Wherever he is, that's enough for me, blah blah. But as we cuddled underneath the fort he built last night, after the dishes had been done and the recycling had been taken out, I thought:
It's nice to be here. It's nice to be home.
Molly is thinking: I effing hate Halloween.
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*THAT PUG! ON THE HOME PAGE OF FORT WOOF! IS THE PUG! He must have an excellent (read: WHORISH) publicist. Please don't forward the link onto Molly. She's not at 100 percent yet.
Updated to add: When I showed Mike Fort Woof's home page, he said, "What leg did that pug have to hump to make that happen?"
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Happy birthday, Lauren!