Jan
26
On the way down to Eugene we dosed Dylan with some children’s Benadryl — actually semi-called for, since he’s been passing a miserable cold back and forth with Riley and JB for two weeks straight — and he was gratifyingly mellow during the entire trip, leading me to assume the same trick would work its magic today. Not so, unfortunately, and after a long cranky drive home and an interminable afternoon topped off by a massive Gag-Reflex-Related-Crib-Barf, I am very much ready for this whole entire day to be over with and am crossing my fingers that everyone’s well enough to get shipped off to school tomorrow, because DANGER DANGER PARENTING RESERVES ON EMPTY PULL UP PULL UP.
It was a good weekend, if occasionally hectic as a result of being away from the comforts of home and dealing with two sick kids. JB’s brother’s wedding could not have been more perfect: a short, sweet ceremony followed by a spectacular party that raged into the night at the bride’s father’s restaurant. Thanks to our babysitters, we were able to enjoy all the wedding festivities, and even though JB’s voice disappeared almost completely hours before he had to give the toast, a microphone and a few Godfather jokes got him by. He was amazing, as I suspected he would be, and his ability to deliver a heartfelt, hilarious speech in front of a giant crowd of people should be formally added to his list of enviable talents (next to: “Can leap like a motherfucking gazelle”, “Is able to write names in snow with urine”, etc).
The wedding location:
JB and his brother before the ceremony:
Me, awkwardly trying to show you my outfit:
Us:
Joe’s unique best man gift to JB, whose name is not, you know, actually JB:
The hard thing about being one of the only non-drinkers at an open-bar wedding is that your inhibitions remain at their normal levels throughout the evening and thus you have to do some Positive Life Coaching exercises to stop worrying about what a jackass you will look like on the dance floor. The nice part, though, is that the story that gets passed around the next day about the person who got so shitfaced they couldn’t remember where their hotel was and loudly insisted on being driven to a gay bar in order to spend the night? Has nothing to do with YOU.
Comments
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I would *get* a tattoo and have it removed for half of Hannah’s half.
So weird – I actually DID think his name was…well, JB. Huh. Stupid me.
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