Not Far From the Tree

This nut doesn't fall far from the tree. My brother and I were born 13 months apart. Josh and his brother were born about 15 months apart. So really, we just don't know any better.

My mom told me once that she was five months pregnant with my brother before she found out. I asked a boat load of questions...How did you not know? Weren't you hungry? How did your pants fit? She said she figured it out when she was sitting at work and felt a kick. How could anyone be so clueless?

Well let me tell you, it's easier than you think! I was going about my business at work when I barfed up a bad banana. Then, at lunch, someone ate what I thought was a rotten salad.

Just to be on the safe side, I thought I should probably pee on a stick. I borrowed a few from my friend Amanda and headed straight to Angela's house. This particular pee stick was confusing. I dunked it over and over and nothing happened. By the time I realized I had it upside down the whole stick had turned purple. What does that even mean?

Of course, Angela wasn't going to let me go home without an answer, so she dug around in the bathroom closet and found an old test. After chugging enough water to work up a dribble and try again there was an audience. At this point six people had a pretty good idea what I was doing in that bathroom. So I peed on the stick, threw it in my purse, grabbed Jackson and headed for the door! I couldn't let everyone find out before Josh.

The first stop sign I came to on Water Tower Road, I made the call. He may have been in San Diego, but we both found out together. All I said when I looked at the test was, "I hope it's a girl!"

A few days later we found out I was 17 weeks along already. I'm sure the ultrasound tech was a little annoyed by my constant giggles. I suppose it's hard to do that job on a bouncing belly.

How did I miss all the signs? Why did my pants still fit? I suppose I was kind of hungry... It's true. The nut doesn't fall far from the tree.

The Longest Goodbye

I knew this day was coming such a long time ago. I remember sitting in the driveway of my house in Council Bluffs talking to my mom on the phone and bawling. This was long before we said the L word, got married or had Jackson. We had only been together for a few months and I had already realized that I had two choices...dump him now or move away forever. 

Later, months later, Josh got to see all the crazy I had built up inside. He kept talking about "When I move next." I finally burst out in blubbering tears, "Well, just dump me now then, don't wait until later when I will be miserable when you leave." Now I know what he really meant was, "When WE move next..."

I'm sure you all thought we would never leave. I mean, we've only been talking about this move since September 2011. We declared, "We're moving!" three times before we actually left. The date changed. The location changed. We found one delay after another - brain surgery, baby Jackson, etc. But we did it. We finally left. The timing wasn't perfect - but in this case I don't think it would have ever been good. I miss my family. I'm sorry they won't get to see Jackson enough or meet the new baby until months after she is born. I miss my job. But the two most important people are here, so I'm here with them. I'm going to get used to this. This is the first of many long goodbyes, I'm sure.

Turkey Burrito

It's about that time of year again. Time to throw out the left over turkey from Thanksgiving. Let me tell you, the garbage disposal is not ideal.

Murphy's Law in the Kern house was "What can go wrong will go wrong, in the middle of the night, when Dad's not home." So, of course, dad was out of town when mom had the grand idea to run half a left over turkey down the garbage disposal instead of just tossing it in the garbage can.

I may never know how exactly this happened - the physics still confuse me - but just before bed there was some kind of plumbing explosion in the laundry room. It looked like a turkey bomb went off. It was absolutely everywhere. There was turkey in the washing machine. There was turkey stuck to the walls. The carpet was soaked in what had become some kind of turkey sewer broth. Gag!

Uncle Todd to the rescue! As mom and I cleaned up what we could, Uncle Todd addressed the plumbing issues. And by clean up, I mean scrape turkey off the walls with a mop.  On his way out of the house Uncle Todd rolled up the turkey sewer broth soaked carpet and declared he was taking the Turkey Burrito to the curb. We were up so late cleaning up the mess that I missed school the next day. The absence note that I presented to my English teacher was one for the record books, I’m sure.

Too Much Watermellon

I know a little boy, who shall remain nameless, who pees the bed when he’s had too much watermelon. So when our friends brought their daughters to our house for a cookout I kept teasing them, “Don’t eat too much, you’ll pee the bed.”

I should have listened to my own advice. Apparently this rule applies to adults and children alike.

I woke up the next morning quite abruptly. As I bailed out of bed I said to Josh, “Don’t roll over.” So naturally he asked, “Why? Is Jackson in the bed?”

Nope. I was just being courteous enough to try and keep him out of the wet spot. I’m sure you’ve painted yourself quite the mental picture. But it’s not as bad as you think. It’s not like I had to lay down newspapers. Lets call it a squirt – or a dribble, maybe.

Between the watermelon and the very vivid dream I was having about sitting on the toilet, it was bound to happen. Not only was I sitting on the toilet in my dream, my hands were in warm water. So as you can see, this really was not my fault.

Nevertheless, take my advice. Don’t eat too much watermelon. 

Highway 6

One of the several reasons Josh should have dumped me when he had the chance occurred two summers ago on Highway 6. Wandering down the side of the highway late at night, drunk, sweaty, wet and bleeding he picked me up and took me home. Well, not without a quick stop at Aunt Vicky's on the way.

The day started out great! Free tickets to see a few of my favorite bands at Westfair and all access passes to the VIP tent with free beer and a private porta-potty was setting the day up for success. But you really have no idea how drunk you are when you're sweating balls and guzzling one cold beer after another.

Despite my intoxication I was courteous enough to be concerned about Josh getting stuck in the concert traffic when he came to pick me up. So I stuffed an extra beer in my purse and cracked open another for the road as I started hiking down the side of Highway 6 in the pitch dark. About 1/4 mile down the road I came across some rough terrain, slipped in the gravel and biffed it on the side of the road.  It must have been a while since I visited that private porta-potty because I spilled my beer and half my bladder when I hit the ground.

Just as I finished picking the gravel out of my knee Josh came to the rescue. I jumped in the car and sent him straight into the concert traffic I was trying to avoid. I needed to get to the closest toilet, Aunt Vicky's house, because I wasn't done peeing.

The next day we drove up and down Highway 6 more than once so I could show Josh the slope I slipped on that caused the whole accident. Never found it. Turns out that road is flat as a pancake; I was the only thing tilted that night.

Table Rock Lake Enema

It's exactly what it sounds like. The Table Rock Lake Enema was the result of a ski boat and a poorly designed inner tube.

The first tube we tried was called the Flying Saucer. We had to exchange it because it took Lucas for a ride like a kite. After becoming airborne and then landing upside down, he resurfaced with bloody elbows.

We traded the Flying Saucer in for a two-man tube. With inflatable seat cushions that weren't well secured, and one bump after another on the wake, it didn't take long before the water was rushing in the bottom of the tube and straight for our butt holes.

Just like the scene from Great Outdoors, my dad and I start yelling "Stop the boat!" Of course, mom can't hear us and keeps right on going. It's not easy keeping water from rushing up your bum at 20 miles per hour. There was only one thing left to do, bail out. We plugged our noses, counted to three and rolled off the side and into the lake. And that's why we call it the Table Rock Lake Enema.

Olive

Memorial Day weekend 2005 my Grandpa and I ventured down to Rhoden Auto to find me a car. I had driven one hoopty after another since I was 15. I finally had a Real Job so the next thing I needed to officially send me off into adult hood was a car payment.

Grandpa was somewhat of a car aficionado. He spent every Monday morning at the car lot telling dirty jokes and eating donuts with his buddies. So I couldn't think of anyone more suited to help me pick out a Brand New Car.

I had few requirements: good gas mileage, a CD player (yeah, there was no iPod then...) and a sun roof. I saw a pretty green one that met my high expectations. Grandpa and I drove it to my parents house that happened to be just across the street from the duplex I lived in. I got my dad's ecstatic seal of approval "Looks ok to me," and purchased my first Brand New Car.

Grandpa must have really known his stuff or I'm one lucky schmuck. My girl Olive just hit 88,888 miles and she's still going strong! Not bad for a pretty thing with a sun roof.