My Daughter's Mother's Name is Deb

Deb, my dear friend, my co-parent, my fire pit buddy, my always has a glass of wine ready for me should I need one.  It seems as though we've been friends for a lifetime but in actuality it's only been a rather short period of time.  Junior year of high school - 2005.  (No, not our junior year - our first born children's.) We came into each other lives when I realized that she had given birth to the daughter that I was supposed to have.  So we decided to share.  It helped that her daughter was dating my #1 son's best friend.  When I needed "girl time" Jesse was the one I called upon.  And Deb sweetly handed her over.  It was a mutually beneficial arrangement for both Deb and I.  Jessica was (is) a beautiful girl.  She can be model beautiful, then go in and change cloths, head out to the woods.  Shoot, kill, field dress, haul it back to the truck, load it up, bring it home,  and finally skin the deer.  Then bop back into the kitchen with the tenderloin in hand ready to help cook dinner.

Jesse was always a low drama / no drama girl.  (Well, except for the one very short time in her life that we just refuse to remember - and EVERYONE has a one of those times in their life. Her's could have been much, much, much worse. But when you consider it was Jessica it was bad enough!) She can cut through BS swifter than a hot knife through butter in July.  She is very academic.  A self starter, truly faith filled with a servants heart. (No, that doesn't mean she cater's to people Martin! LOLLOL)  And always succeeds in whatever venture or adventure she begins.  Nothing phased this young women.  Which was a good thing because God chose her to be the oldest of four in her family.  She is followed in birth order by three younger brothers.  Then when you add in our four sons, she is the girl with seven brothers.  It's a touch job, but she has always handled it well.

Here's a for example for you.  The place, baseball field in the heat of summer.  Jesse and our #4 were there with me watching the game.  #4 had just gotten back from the concession stand, his purchase, a giant king size, fresh from the refrigerator Snickers candy bar.  Jesse watched as he carefully unwrapped it, ever so carefully.  After he took his first bite, she leaned in closer and requested a little bite.  Without even a hint of a delay, #4 said, "Sure".  He started to hand it over to her, paused, brought it back to his mouth and proceeded to lick the entire candy bar from bottom to top.  Then handed it back to her. She said, "Thanks" and took an enormous bite.  If only you could have been there to see the look on his face.  She burst out laughing and said, "Before you were a giant butt and licked the candy, I was only going to take a little bite, but when you decided to lick it, I was going to make it worth it.  You can tell you've never had a sister before, nothing gets between a girl and chocolate!" That sealed their relationship......

Jesse integrated very well.  Tennis, dodge ball, basketball - okay here's a good one about basketball. So all the boys, and Jesse, are heading out to play a pick up game of basketball.  I hear them call captains, then I hear one of the Baker Boys call "Shirts".  Followed by Jesse's boyfriend, Ryan, hollering "Yeah, right!  She will not be playing SKINS!!"  Once, during a game of two hand touch football, one of the boys (NOT a Baker!!) got a little handsie with Jessee.  She proceeded to drop him to the ground like a bag of cement.  When Deb and I questioned our sons about why none of them stepped forward to help Jesse, they all laughed and said they would have helped if she needed it but she didn't, she had in all in control!

Jessica found the love of her life.  As fate would have it, she recycled.  Yep, she found that the love of her life was actually the first love of her life.  Poor Jake!  The boys got gumption.  When you can look into the faces of nine men and profess your love for a girl, well, it's gotta be real.  I'm not sure he'll willingly go hiking with his brothers-in-law again, but you can't ever tell.  Over time his memory might diminish.  But that's fodder for a future post. Suffice to say, Jake is a wonderful, talented, smart, hardworking, good looking young man.  (Who know's how to eat!)

My husband is not a very showy or emotional man. (Okay, that's probably one of the biggest understatements I could ever make.)  He did however, make my heart grow three sizes larger when I heard what he told Jessica on her wedding day.  He told her that she looked beautiful and the only thing that could have made it better was if "she had married a Baker Boy".  (Not that that was ever an option - siblings for LIFE!) Deb and I boo-hoo'ed over that one.

As for me, I was bursting with joy watching that girl, my daughter, on her wedding day.  She and Deb made sure that there was a 2nd Momma of the Bride corsage - just for me.  Jessica wore the silver and blue cross (her something borrowed, something blue), Deb lovingly sewed it onto her wedding dress. I bought the cross earlier in the summer in Paris at Notre Dame Cathedral. I wasn't sure why at the time, but I was definitely drawn to it.  I'd like to think that all my future daughters-in-law would like to borrow my blue cross to use as their borrowed or blue.  Jessica loves that she was the FIRST.

I've so enjoyed the path we've walked so far. 

Plus, look at all the many options I have to become a Glam-ma.  

In the meantime, I'll continue to enjoy journey.... 

An Un-Normally Normal Day

Have you ever had one of those days?

This was the day of our once a month bunco Wednesday (we've been meeting for the past 17 years). I decided to shower and do my hair and makeup first thing.  I had a pretty clear day - nothing scheduled but some light housework planned. Just a little puttering about. It seems like no matter how hard I tried, I always tend to run late and show up to bunco with either my hair tied back or a baseball cap on, not a speck of makeup on and wearing the ever unfashionable yoga pant and tee-shirt ensemble. Really, do that many people actually do yoga, or do they just want to wear the hold-it-in-place, never-binding britches. I indulged and took a long hot shower, complete with conditioner, and a leg shave (both of em).

Then the day from hell started.  I mean REALLY started. You know the kind of day I'm talking about.  You open the pantry door and as you're reaching for the box of cereal, you knock over a jar of sauce..... which you watch in slow motion as it plummets end over end before shattering on the floor. Not a simple glass breaking episode.  But a powerful mini-nuclear-esq feat.  It takes three turns to arrive from our kitchen to the front door.  That jar hit the floor with such force that there were pieces of that stinking jar in my foyer!!!

A mere hour and a half later, I was finally able to make it back to the pantry to grab that box of cereal.  You remember that cereal, the box that caused the cataclysmic issue above. Well, that STINKING box of cereal was EMPTY!!!  Okay, I embellish, it had five pieces of golden grahams left in the bottom of the otherwise big, empty box!  Another item to put on my grocery list.  So much for my breakfast.  I'll just grab lunch a little early.

I start the dishwasher.  Not a major event.  I'm piddling around the kitchen, wiping down counters, which somehow turns into a refrigerator clean out.  Halfway through the dishwasher cycle, a toxic smell starts emanating from within.  I open the door, yep, there is a gush of water that runs out.  After all the dishwasher WAS running before I opened it.  Stop, clean up water on the floor.  Reopen door, with a little more care this time.  Find that someone had accidentally put a throw away fork in the dishwasher, where it managed to work its way out of the utensil holder and down onto the heating element.  However it managed to do it, it did. About 35-45 minutes to clean the inside of the dishwasher, and all the moving parts that ended up with bitty pieces of melted plastic on them.

When I finally closed the washer door for the final time, I looked down at the floor and realized how incredible the floor looked where I had just mopped up water, compared to the rest of the floor that just looked blah - at best.  Another two and a half hours later, the floor in the kitchen, breakfast room, hallway, guest bath and foyer were all sparkling.

The dogs were clamoring to go out.  Without a second thought on the matter, (dumb a$$, dumb a$$, dumb a$$) I let them out.  I then headed to the laundry room.  How does that poem go? "For Whom the Bell Tolls", ummm, yeah, right... completely out of context.  There WAS a bell tolling, however, it was just the dryer bell telling me the towels were dry and fluffy.  After folding an extra large load of towels. Switching from washer to dryer and reloading the washer,  I was in and out of the laundry room in a mere 20 minutes.

That's when I heard the dogs at the back door requesting readmission.  I wish my eyes would have communicated to my brain a second and a half before my brain had my arm opening the door for those mangey mongrels. (They're actually pedigreed but at this point I could care less - they were lucky to be breathing!)  What should have been communicated quicker was STOP, the sprinkler had come on when they were outside playing and they turned it into a wet water find dirt game.  And they BOTH won.  In they ran.  On my beautiful freshly washed floors.  All of them!  They slipped, they slid, they skidded.  It was a doggie fest.  I finally got them corralled in their kennel and ran to the laundry room where I grabbed the closest things I could find to clean up their wet gooey muddy mess, my freshly washed and fluffed towels.

Figure another three hours to wash, dry, and comb out:  one still living and breathing Chesapeake Bay Retriever and one still living and breathing German Shepherd (Yes, I quantified that description. I don't want to hear any negative feedback from PETA people questioning.....)  Another 30 minutes to wash down and defur the bathroom shower I used to shampoo those hairballs.  Throw in another hour to rewash the entire first floor.  Yes, it took me two and 1/2 hours the first time but really, by now I really didn't give a damn.  The big chucks were gone.  If there was some smearing, squint and don't look close!

Forget about lunch of any kind. School had already let out. My entire day was a complete waste of time.  I had nothing to show for it.  Now there was no time to prepare dinner for my herd.  Plus, I still had to get ready for bunco.  (My earlier shower, hair and makeup session was but a distant memory by now.)  I was creatureisq.  There's truly no better description that comes to mind.

Back in the shower I go, forget about conditioner this time.  I'm lucky to get all the dog hair and mud off me in one sudsy maneuver.  Well, so much for preplanning.  I have enough time to either put on make and do my hair or run by the grocery and pick up dessert for my herd (yep, I'm feeling guilty for calling hubby and having him pick up something for dinner on the way home).  My Bunco Babes are used to seeing me in a ball cap, yoga pants, and tee shirt.  Why should today be any different.

In I walked to bunco, fifteen minutes late, starving, and ready for a very, very cold margarita or three...... I'm not sure if it was my imagination or did one of the bunco babes murmur - really, Baker's at home all day, you'd think she'd take a little time to make herself more presentable.....  I decided to let my imagination take that one.  Grandmother always taught me a young/old lady never throws a punch.

Erma Can't Be Found... Check in Tomorrow

I'm sorry folks, I can't seem to find Erma today. I need clarity of mind, jubilance of soul, (and sometimes a fluffy pillow and an adult beverage)  to write.  At this point, that doesn't seem to be an option given the narcotic syrups, thinners and relievers the doc has me taking round the clock.

I leave you with this thought...... Yes, Virginia, you can empty your bladder and then on the way back from the bathroom, have such a horrific, body racking coughing fit that you wet your pants profusely!!!  The worse part isn't actually the wetting of your pants, but rather, the look the dogs give you when they see what you've done.

Prayers would be greatly accepted.

#ErmaWhereAreYou

 — feeling sick.

"Party in Hawaii" or "My Obit"

It's Monday morning, 12:39am.  Here I sit attempting to get my creative writing ideas to flow out my finger tips.  I'm finding it a bit difficult to do with this giant elephant sitting on my chest.  Guess I'm going to have to break down and call the doctor's office later today.  The pleasant side of this morning is the comfortable climate in our house.  I'm actually sitting here in my lightweight nightgown incredibly comfortable. That is not a normal occurrence.  For the past, hmmmm.... has to be about five years now, I've been living in a combination of peri and true menopause.  Needless to say, I'm a human furnace.  Tonight, that works to my benefit - our actual furnace quit working.  John and #4 aren't so happy about it, but they'll live.  I've got them each wrapped up in electric blankets and the fire's burning in our bedroom fireplace.

Saturday night we met some dear friends, Tom and Colleen, for dinner and a movie. (McFarland, TX if anyone's interested - man do I lust for Kevin Costner)  T & C are those friends that came into our lives as the parents of #1's best friend.  Tom is a lot like John.  Pretty laid back.  He doesn't need to raise his voice to get his point across.  A look from him can stop a son at 50 yards.  Colleen is the real life version of "Glenda", the Good Witch.  She speaks with a delightfully happy, calming lilt to her voice.  She can find the positive in just about anything.  She is the cheerleader for all the underdogs. And because of this, I can't sit by my dear friend during baseball games.

The straw that broke our stadium seating came during a high school baseball game.  One of our outfielders dropped a ball.  Dropped, as in, never got a glove on the freaking ball.  It dropped out of the sky in front of him.  And there sat Colleen, clapping and cheering.  I looked at her as if she had lost her freaking mind. What the hell was she doing?  And then if it couldn't get worse, she hollers, "It's okay, good try.  You can do it next time!  Good try!"  I looked at her with all the love and as little distain I could muster and said, "No Colleen, it was NOT a good try.  It was horrible.  It was a textbook catch.  Coach needs to pull his behind!"  After that, we hugged hello before the game, went to dinner after the game but NEVER sat next to each other during a game.

Other than our diversity in cheerfulness, we actually share a lot in common.  She's a boys mom too. They have three sons. All their sons were deep into sports as well.  Their boys, however, are older than ours.  Their baby is equal in age to our oldest.  Needless to say, over the years T&C have shared their experiences and on occasion given us a "heads ups".

It was over dinner that Tom mentioned my blog.  He said that Colleen had indicated that she had read it and really enjoyed it.  Tom asked what John thought of it.  At that point my husband said, "Blog, what blog?".  That's become a common joke between us since February 10th.  I guess some of John's friends have read it.  But when they mention anything about it to him, he plays dumb.  Hmmm, I always just assumed he was playing!!  I said he wouldn't take notice until I could "show him the money".  That lead to a discussion of bank accounts; his and her's, his, hers. Colleen made mention that her paycheck had gone down a bit since she had picked up medical and life insurance.  I commented that I had just lowered the amount of coverage we had on me (and increased what we had on John).  After all the boys were mostly grown.  It's not like John would have to replace me with a cook, housekeeper and taxi service.  They were all self sufficient.  

As we continued talking about the coverage amounts we were carrying.  I said there would be enough for me to be cremated and fly everyone to Hawaii for a giant send off party.  Tom said it sounded like a good time. John assured Tom he'd get an invitation.  (Seriously?!?) I'm not sure if I should be worried about their laissez-faire attitude regarding my demise.  I reminded them, emphatically, that it wasn't anything that was going to occur in the near future.  John said for me not to worry, he'd plan a great party.  I mentioned that I wasn't worried about him planning a party.  I was a bit concerned about my obituary.  I can see it now:  Michelle Davis Baker, wife, and mother.  She was born in (??), she grew up somewhere in Alabama.  She was active in lots of stuff.  Celebration of Life sunset ceremony planned in Kauai, Hawaii.  All welcome.  Now, I know I'm being ridiculous. There is NO way this could be my obit. It's longer than the allotted 25 word free one the paper throws in.

Glenda laughed and assured me that John would never do that (I still maintain she had questioning eyes when she said that).  Tom just laughed.  And John suggested I go ahead and write my own and that I could then post it on my blog.........

Have a great day!  May the elephants leave my chest and the house warm up to temperatures my family can function in.

Aloha........................... 

United Front

My husband and I have always tried to maintain a united front when it came to our boys.  If we differed in parenting, we usually discussed it behind closed doors.  (Hmmm, I think the doors were closed those two times we had to discuss something.  And then he saw my point was the right one and the discussion was over. At least that's how I remember it.)

I truly believe that God gives children two parents for a reason.  Or rather, two reasons.  The first reason is that having two parents allows a child to live longer.  Past experience has proven, for us at least, when one of us is ready to kill any of the four said children, the other is in a laid back, water off the ducks back mode. Assuring the other, "Hey, it's not a big deal. Don't get worked up. Let it gooooo!" (Yep, that was a mantra of ours, way before that incredible cartoon extravaganza sang the catchy, girly version.) Also, the same parent was never the chillaxer twice in a row. Somehow the occasions of short fused detonation always flipflopped.  Two parents, it's God's parental scale of checks and balances.

The second reason is safety. When one parent uncharastically loses their absolute freaking mind and makes a potentially ridiculously dangerous decision, the other parent steps up, states the error of the situation and everyone is safe and sound, no worse for wear.  Case in point.  We never - except for this one time - usurped each other's authority.  It was Hawaii, four children ages fourteen months,  4 years, 6 years, and 8 years old.  It was day two or three of our nine day stay.  Coming from Kansas City, the ocean and the beach is a beautiful, mystical place - unless you can't get in.  And why couldn't we get in? Because the entire time we had been there the ocean was closed.  Not in the sense there were road blocks or armed guards detouring people.  Just a flag.  Yes, a Red Flag flying high next to the unmanned life guard tower.  Why would the tower be unmanned you might ask yourself. No need for a life guard, when the beach was CLOSED! Duh....

With the ocean out of commission, we had to make due with swimming and frolicking in any of the four plus pools available to us at the resort.  I think my husband might have been an aquatic animal in a former life.  He longs for the ocean.  He couldn't hide it.  I kept catching him sneaking a peek here and there. Yes, I caught him gazing longingly at it. Finally, he couldn't hold himself back any longer.  "Hey guys", he said to the oldest three, "Let's take a walk on the beach".  I knew from the moment he uttered those words, there was no way on God's green earth I was allowing him to take the boys down to the beach without me.  I told him I'd love to go along too.  Now mind you, trudging along carrying a roly poly fourteen month old on the soft sand while attempting to keep pace is not an easy feat. Especially if you are 5'3" to your husband's 6'2".

We made it to the beach, I was now huffing and puffing pretty good after that mini marathon.  I know my husband.  He is NOT a "sit on the sand and watch the water" kind of guy.  If he wanted to submerge himself in that RED FLAGGED killer sea, that was his decision.  I would prefer he not, but he's a big boy.  No sooner had I plopped down, than he speaks up and asks the boys if they want to get in the water.  I immediately sound off with a definitive, resounding "NO".  I reminded him that it was not safe. Otherwise it wouldn't be closed.  He scoffed and reminded me that he was their father.  He certainly wasn't going to let anything happen to them.  I said, "You're right, you wouldn't intentionally let something happen and we aren't going to risk it because they are NOT stepping one little toe in that water!" It was a standoff. All that was missing was the theme song from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.

Picture three boys standing in a row looking back and forth from mom to dad and back again.  John once again said, "Come on boys, it'll be okay".  I might have said something along the lines of "If you take one step towards that water, I'll beat you".  After one more fervent look between the two of us, the three of them sat down in unison.

John only had one more card to play.  He told them that if that was the case, we would all just go back to the room and take a nap.  I seized that card and said that was a great idea!  None of the boys said a thing as we trudged back to the room.  John managed to throw a couple of "Mommy is such a downer" "Mommy doesn't want to have fun" "Mommy worries too much" "It's Mommy's fault we have to all go take a nap" quips in my direction.  I managed to hold my tongue.  Everyone laid down and took a good two hour nap.  When we woke up, it was time to get dressed and head down to the conference dinner.

It was on that walk down to dinner that we ran into other attendees.  They asked if we had heard about Craig.  "No", we said, "What happened to Craig?"  Well, Craig decided the ocean didn't look that bad, so he was only getting in to his knees.  That's when the riptide got him.  A broken neck, a couple of broken ribs, a punctured lung and an air lift to the hospital later.... they said he would be okay, with time. John looked at me.  I looked at John.  We never said a word out loud, but the silent discussion we had then and there was pretty intense.

And that boys and girls is why God gives children two parents............

Super Salad

Let me set the stage.....  I was the team photographer for the Kansas City T-Bones.  They play in the American Association of Independent Professional Baseball league.  One of the perks of the gig was that one or more of our sons could accompany me. (If they didn't have a game of their own to play in.) I was usually shooting from the dugout and they had their choice of seats in the stands.

The games were fun, however, the real enjoyment for our oldest came during BP.  (That's batting practice for all you baseball virgins.) Ben was allowed on the field with the team and could help shag balls. That boy would run his tush off in order to beat an outfielder out of a catch.  One of the coaches told me that Ben shagging balls was great and he loved having him there.  I agreed and said that it was a boys dream come true. Timmy, the coach, laughed and said, "Yeah, there's that too.  But I was talking about how great it was that a kid could get these players off their lazy a$$ to run during BP". Apparently Ben motivated them. They didn't like getting shown up by a young kid.

One night after a winning game, a group of us got together and went to a steakhouse not to far from the ballpark.  There were four or five players, my friend Tracy - who was Director of Merchandise, #1 son, and myself.  The waitress began taking orders, starting with #1 son.  He said he'd like a steak - medium and a baked potato.  She asked him if he would like a soup or salad.  Ben said, "Yes, please."  She pursed her lips a bit and repeated, "Soup or Salad?".  Ben smiled at her, but furrowed his brow a bit and repeated, a bit louder, "YES, please".  For a third time, completely frustrated, and a lot louder on her part, "DO YOU WANT SOUP OR SALAD?"  Ben looked at me completely perplexed and said, "She keeps asking me and I keep telling her, YES, I would like a super salad". With that the entire table broke up in complete laughter.  When she finally composed herself, and it took a minute or two, she said, "no sweetie, do you want a SOUP or do you want a SALAD with your dinner?"  Ben broke into a huge smile and said, "Oh, I get it now.  I thought you were asking me if I wanted a giant salad!"

Needless to say, that is one hilariously true story.  So.... it was told often.  So much so that Ben at one point was called Super Salad.  As the years passed, that small boy grew.  I stepped down as the team photographer after seven wonderful years.  The T-Bones schedule was in direct conflict with Ben's collegiate summer team schedule.  There was no way I was going to miss shooting my own son's games.

It was around that time we were out to dinner at a steakhouse with the entire family. Someone mentioned "super salad" and Ben went off.  He said, "Enough is enough, the whole super salad joke was funny in the beginning but come on it's been years!  Can you all finally drop it and let it go."

I apologized.  I was so very sorry.  We didn't mean to hurt his feelings.  We thought he was laughing with us but apparently it had worn pretty thin over the years.  We all agreed to never mention it again. And with that, talk around the table commenced, until the waitress came to take our orders.  When she got to Ben, he said, "I'll have the KC Strip, medium, baked potato, and soup with ranch".  You could have heard a pin drop.  Every conversation around the table stopped and everyone sat in amazement staring at Ben.  "What??" he inquired.  I leaned forward and said, "Ummm, you just asked for soup with ranch".  He shook his head and said, "No I didn't!!" as he looked up at the waitress, she was nodding her head pretty profusely in agreement, "Yes, actually you did". Ben laughed, shook his head and said "Okay, let's just go back to super salad please!"

Fast forward a couple more years....  This time instead of the dugout, I'm sitting in one of the suites at a T-Bones game.  The announcer comes on and in a big booming voice amidst the cheers says, "Now entering the game, # 9, Ben Baker".

I'm amazed I was able to shoot any pics during that game.  It's hard to focus a camera with tears of pride streaming down your cheeks!

#Still Following His Dream

#For the Love of the Game

Fat and Juicy

The Date - February 2015.  The location - a beautiful villa nestled on eleven quiet acres in the small town of Franklin, Tennessee, just a short jaunt from Nashville. The attendees - five 50 One-der-ful girlfriends (yeah that's right, you can be 51 and still be a girl!  Old Girl, but still a girl!) The five Bama Babes have been friends since our high school days, that's going back to 1979 in Decatur, Alabama.

We are now a bit spread out - I was actually speaking locationally, however,  now that I think about it, yes, over the years we're a bit more spread out physically too.  High school was, after all, a few days ago. Two girls are still in Decatur (lucky wenches!), one in Richmond, Virginia, one in Perdido Key, Florida, and me in Kansas City, Misery Missouri (yes, sometimes I'm a tad bit bitter over not living south of the Mason-Dixon line).  Please don't get me wrong, Missouri is a great place to visit. I've been visiting for 30 years now.

Last time we all gathered together, we were headed to Mexico on a cruise ship .  It's safe to say that it will never be the same again south of the border.  This year, we decided to match up for "quickie" in Nashville.

What happens when the "Bama Babes" converge on Nashville?  If eight bottles of wine, salmon, crab, multiple varieties of chips and dips, veggie and fruit trays, cheese cake, brownie bark, and not nearly enough FAT & JUICY comes to mind, you would be spot on.  We have to thank Carol for introducing us to Fat & Juicy!  It became the motto of our trip.  It is a fabulous bloody mary mix with just enough kick. Not too WOW for the weak mouthed, spicy sensitive pansy who can't take too much liquid heat.  (Yes, that would be me!)  As I said, we definitely didn't bring enough Fat & Juicy!! But no worries, we've made both mental and written notes to ourselves to insure it doesn't happen again.

Let me tell you, those tight abbed plankers have absolutely nothing on the Bama Babes when we're together. We all agreed our collective stomachs were all so very sore at the end of our three day getaway from excessive and exhaustive laughter.  I don't think any of us "intentionally" left our Fitbits at home.  I'm actually a little sorry we couldn't document our mileage.  If you've never had the opportunity to visit Franklin, Tennessee and their miles of antique shops, I would strongly encourage it. (Some of "shops" are housed in one gi-normous ancient warehouse - we're talking hundreds of little booths in one place).

While we were planning this getaway, we were in close communication with Bill, the owner of the villa.  What a complete and total sweetheart.  He was kind enough to suggest the restaurant, "Grays on Main" in Franklin for us to have our celebratory - new job, congrats again Kit-Kat!! and future birthday dinner - all of us. We ended up with the most delightful waiter, "Brian Scott".  Gary also suggested that should we run into any issues getting a reservation, we name drop.  He then gave me the names to drop.  LOL, LOL  Let's just say that our reservation at 9pm on the first floor got changed to 7:30 on the top floor.  Ohhh how I love name dropping!!!

Sunday, we worked hard.  We worked hard at not working at all.  Picture human sloths in jammies. We lounged, laughed, ate, drank, occasionally napped, watched movies, played cards, and piled up on an incredible pit couch.  We opted out of getting dressed to go to dinner, and instead did the only logically thing.  That's right, we picked up the phone and ordered some of the most delectable, delightful pizzas. On any other occasion, they might have tasted like cardboard, but at that point in time, we would have eaten just about anything if it meant we were able to continue to just exist together in total relaxation. After all, the only thing we had planned for Sunday didn't started until 8pm. That being said, we pushed the limits of women everywhere and never left the confines of our jammies or sweats until about 7pm, when we finally motivated each other to start getting ready.

We were sad that our 5th Bama Babe was having to depart early for Decatur at the very same time we were departing for our evening's adventure.  However, we understood.  She is a good daughter, you know, the "Auburn One". (Sorry, couldn't miss an opportunity to slip in an inside joke.) Her precious momma was having her hip replaced first thing in the morning.  We hugged the daylights out of Carol, promised to plan a summer quick meet-up, and sent her on her way, physically. Mentally and electronically, she was still with us throughout the remainder of the weekend.

No trip to Nashville would be complete without an evening down on Broadway.  Being smart, experienced women, we knew better.  Therefore, we arranged for a car and driver for the night.  No need of a DD for us! We had Gary, from West Haven Carriage. (Yes, this is a blatant plug, but who cares? When you find someone who still offers top of the line customer service, you want to promote them!) Gary owns the company. And was absolutely FABULOUS!!! Broadway itself was a bit quiet, but the bars weren't. We listened to great music, drank very COLD beer, took pictures - that will never see the light of day outside of our very tight group, and once again laughed ourselves silly...... Nothing better then ending the night in your jammies eating cheesecake at 1:30 in the morning.

We didn't feel guilty for our late night / early morning cheesecake fest because Monday greeted us with the delightful anticipation of massages.  Due to the nondisclosure agreement we all signed in blood prior to the trip, this is all I can tell you about our weekend getaway.  Oh... and I won the "Best Post Massage Face".

You know that saying, "What Happens in Vegas....."  well, the truth of the matter is that phrase was initially, "What happens in Nashville - on a girls trip - stays in Nashville"..... and on the memory cards that will forever be sealed in a mayonnaise jar and buried in the back forty under a tree facing north.

Until our next trip.  I hear the Dominican calling!  

Me, Neater, Licia, Kit-Kat
aka "Bama Babes"
at the villa