Church, Vodka, Valium & Alibis

I went to church on Sunday.  For those that know me, know that I am not really of the church-going type… but for those that follow me on Instagram know that I’m going through a very. VERY.  rough spot in my marriage right now, as well.  My marriage has been on very rocky ground for several years now, but still the blow that the end is lurking near has sent me spiraling and gasping for air along the way.  I have a dear friend who has been through some pretty gnarly situations in her marriage, as well, who has stood by her phone every waking hour for my every text.  She has checked in on me on some days by the hour, and has listened/read EVERY crazy thought that has come into my mind.  If I needed an alibi, she would likely be that person for me.  She is in far too deep, but I’m not sure if I could have survived the last month of my life without her.

So, when this dear friend invited me to church this last Sunday… and by invited I mean, gave me 6 different start times to choose from… offered her husband for babysitting services… and promised me vodka and valium as an after-church-treat… I knew that she had my best interest at heart.  I also knew that I’m willing to do almost anything to find some clarity, and be able to catch my breath for the first time in weeks.

I would consider myself an iffy-religious-based person, at best.  I have a hard time with the parameters of Christianity, and I like the idea of simply being a good human more than I like the idea of organized religion.  So, when the service started and it was HEAVY on the Bible verses and stories of the resurrection (since we’re nearing Easter), I could have chosen to skip out mentally, but I didn’t.  The message of the service was still very loud and clear to me because of the way that the preacher? bishop? priest? delivered the power of her words.  She spoke of the night before the crucifixion… the time spent in Gethsemane.  She did a fantastic job of relating that to real life, and the message was that in the most deafening times of your life — when everything you know has been crushed — something magnificent can come from the pain, if you let it.  She gave examples of bread being crushed and turning to grain, grapes to wine, and olives to precious oil.  She said that if you allow this time and pressure to create something beautiful, exactly that will happen.

I am hoping with every part of my being that what can come of this crushing time in my life is a better, stronger, and healthier marriage… but I am also beginning to accept the fact that if that doesn’t happen, then the beauty of this awful time will be a better, stronger, and healthier version of myself.  Actually… that is going to happen either way… I just hope it is a better, stronger, healthier STILL MARRIED version of myself.

Thank you, everyone… for all the love and support that I have received.  Countless hours of service from friends, text messages from wonderful people, and lines of support from complete strangers have been shared with me, and I am forever grateful to all of you.

Photo credit: Shannon Elizabeth Photography  Makeup credit:  Amelia C. & Co.

Brody & His Run-In with the Police

This guy looks innocent enough, doesn’t he?  He’s just your run of the mill 4 year old enjoying a round of delicious Oreos… or so you think.  You see, this laugh right here, it’s downright evil.  On Brody’s 4th birthday I posted  the following:


Happy 4th birthday, my little love! Today, on this special day, I would like to tell you that I fear you may turn out to be a serial killer when you grow up. I mean, you definitely have a leg up on Ted Bundy, and you’ve only been around 4 short years.  
You have charm and charisma that rivals a french pool boy, yet I turn around often to find you sneak attacking your brothers.
Your smile can get you out of almost any predicament in our house, yet your cunning moves can send your brothers into tears.
There have been times that you have loved me so hard that you nearly strangled me, and many more times that your excitement has led to your fingernails drawing blood in my arms… neck… face.
You love hard, and you fight harder, my dear Brodrick. I wish you many more happy birthdays to come… and my fingers are crossed that none of them are behind bars.
PS. I’ll delete this if Dateline ever calls me for an interview. I’m ride or die for you. 

Brody’s birthday was in June.  My foreshadowing of his future run-ins with the law is both ominous and slightly comical given the fact that I thought his first face-to-face with the police might come maybe fourteen or more years down the road… not 4 months.

It was busy wedding season, and I had asked one of our young (high school aged) babysitters to have a daily gig at Larkspur.  She came Monday – Friday from 3-6pm as I had a shoot almost every day for 3 months straight.  She was/is a major help for our family.  The boys love her, and she has become a staple at our house!  Brody actually loves her the most.  He talks often about his love for her, and how he will marry both me and her someday.  I would leave Brody at home with the sitter each day, and they would walk the trail together to get the bigger boys from school.  Brody loved this routine.

On the day of “the incident”… I didn’t have a shoot.  I reveled in the idea that I could run to the grocery store while the babysitter did her daily routine.  The mistake I made was telling Brody that I didn’t have to work.  He lost his mind that he couldn’t go to the grocery store with me.  I had a TON of things to purchase, so going solo was really what I wanted to do.  I slipped out of the house even though he was upset, and figured he would calm down when they left to get the big boys from school.

Boy was I wrong.

While at the meat counter I get a text from the sitter that Brody had BOLTED from her care.  He had ridden his bike that day while she was afoot, and she just could not catch his little maniac feet that sprinted like hamsters around the circles of his pedals.  She had been looking for him for quite some time.  The neighbors were looking for him too.  They had received word from other neighbors driving in that they had seen him riding out on the street… towards the grocery store, of course.

I get a few more text messages that they REALY CAN’T FIND HIM.  At this point we’re about 20 minutes into the ordeal and I realize that this is pretty serious and that my FOUR YEAR OLD was roaming busy streets and intersections all by himself.  Smith’s (which isn’t the grocery store I was at) is easily 2 miles from my house and there are several intersections in which Brody would have crossed traffic ALONE!  I panicked.  The biggest fear, of course, is someone taking him.  I kept running it through my head that he can get hit (okay, maybe just bumped) by a car all he wants… break a leg… break an arm… I can handle that.  Just don’t let someone TAKE HIM!

I called the police the moment I sprinted out of the grocery store.  I frantically asked for whoever was patrolling the neighborhood to just have a look out for a little baby boy on a tiny red bike riding all by himself.

As I drove from the grocery store that I was at to the other store that Brody was allegedly barreling towards, I see a little tiny dude and a little tiny red bike being held by a crossing guard.  Bless that man!!  I was still on the phone with the police dispatch, and I yelled, I found him, I found him, but I don’t know if I ever even hung up my phone.  Brody was wriggling like a worm on a hook trying to break free.  My car tires screeched around the corner and I stopped… likely in the middle of the road.  BRODY FROZE.  I ran to the crossing guard, tears streaming, and swooped him up.  I checked his body for marks, made sure he was safe, held him long enough for him to know that his safety was my main concern… and then the switch flipped, and I got MAD.

The mother-scolding began, and you wanna know what that little punk kid did… HE YELLED BACK AT ME!  He was pissed that I wouldn’t take him to the store.  He yelled that it was my fault because if I had just taken him to the store then he wouldn’t have had to run away!!!  My mother-blood boiled.  I put him into his car seat knowing that I had to get out of there because if these people saw me lose it on my 4 year old after he had just RAN AWAY from my house… child protective services would be BANGING down my door.

We got back home, and within the 2 mile car ride Brody’s swagger wavered drastically.  He knew he was in trouble.  We stepped out onto our driveway when suddenly three police cars came zooming down our street.

I pushed Brody’s little back towards the middle of the driveway, and told him that those police officers were here for HIM, not me.

Hopefully, this is my little runaway’s last encounter with the police, but I have a feeling that this is jussssst the beginning.

Redemption …or… Challenge (half-ass-ed-ly) Accepted. I Couldn’t Decide on a Title.

I’m obviously a bit more of a drive-by blogger than I am a marathoner… but… last December I attempted to blog every day for the 31 days of December.  I think that I only made it to day 13. I obviously like blogging just like I enjoy my vodka… in sporadic, yet rather large doses.

I’m going to give myself a chance at redemption, but seeing as how it is technically 1:21am on December 2nd… I have kind of already failed.  ha ha ha… Oh well… maybe I’ll aim for just blogging for 14 days and beat last year’s record.  Challenge (half-ass-ed-ly) accepted.

I’m winding down my 2016 wedding season this coming Saturday with my very last wedding before I fall into a deep dark slumber for the rest of December.  Yeah right…   who am I kidding… I have three young boys… slumber is never part of the equation.  I will; however, try my best to detach from the cyber world and get in a few more movie nights, a lot more cuddles, and be able to see pure joy on the boys’ faces almost every morning of this magical month.

This morning we introduced two new Elf of the Shelf’s to the boys.  Finding the correct way to make “Elf on the Shelf” plural was very difficult for me just now.  Elves on the Shelf?  Elves on the Shelves?  These stupid, fucking elves seriously ruin my life.  ha ha ha!

Our original Elf apparently decided that zone defense wasn’t good enough and he needed to bring in some reinforcements.  Since we didn’t get “newborn elves” the two brothers of Hiko, our original elf, already had names when they arrived.  Coincidentally enough, the elf’s names all start with the same letters as our boy’s names… funny how that happened.  So, of course, a hashtag needed to be created… because, well, because of millennials and their damn need for hash tagging everything… and because it’s just freaking fun.  So, we’re #HGBforLIFE – ing over here on #loveonlarkspur.  Gawd, that’s annoying.  It’s bad when I’m annoying myself on my own blog.

Anyway… the elf’s names are Hiko, Gilly, and Booger.  Us parents pronounced it Boo-ger, and thought the kids would get a kick out of the funny name… but the immature parents we are were disappointed when we heard Hudson pronounce his name “Boo-jurr”… which is obviously the Cajun pronunciation of his name and we quickly learned that Boo-jurr must have come from a seasonal job in Louisiana before heading to his forever home here in Nevada.  Now we know.

Our elves are of Japanese decent, a cowboy, and a Crawfish eatin’ Cajun.  Just call us diverse.

Happy December, Everyone!