Meet the Kerns

About four years ago, on June 6, to be exact, Josh had the pleasure of meeting my family. The whole family. All at once. I threw a party to celebrate what I thought was the end of my home renovations.

Josh arrived just a wee bit late because he missed the exit to my house and drove half way to Crescent before he could turn around. I was in the kitchen when he got there. I saw him walking down the driveway to the backyard. He was about to walk right into the snake pit. I tried to catch him, but it was too late. He stood on the patio in front of 50 strangers and announced, "Hi, I'm Josh."

Thank goodness he's not one bit shy. It could have been terribly awkward. Most normal people would introduce the person they are dating to their parents in a quiet setting. Oh no, not me! Why not throw a huge party, invite the entire family, all your friends and coworkers? Just rip the Band-Aid off quick.

I'm sure all the booze helped too. By the end of the night Josh had made my brother throw up on the fence during a game of tippy cup, offered my dad a polite explanation on each of his visible tattoos and celebrated my cousin's 21st birthday at the dive bar down the street.

He was awarded the seal of approval by everyone, phew! We all must have made a pretty good impression too. I don't think he would have kept me around if my family sucked. Family tends to be a package deal.

Babies in Vegas

I had a horribly wonderful idea to make one last fun-filled family trip before the baby comes July 1. Since it's only a quick six hour drive, why not spend Mother's Day weekend in Vegas? We kept it family friendly and made reservations for Circus Circus. Although Jackson is too small and I'm too large to ride any of the amusement park rides, I figured there would be plenty for him to see and do.

I researched all the kid friendly activities in Vegas and found that there were more than I expected, and many were free. So, the list of activities included a lion habitat, aquarium, free shows at Treasure Island and Circus Circus and the Bellagio fountains, of course.

We could see Treasure Island was only two casinos away, so we pack up our child, a cocktail, some gun magazines (don't ask...) and started strolling the strip. Forgetting that the Strip is an optical illusion, we made it all of two long blocks before I started having contractions. We immediately purchased a bus ticket as I sat on the bus stop 'bench' and tried to pull it together. And by 'bench' I mean metal rod. I might as well have been sitting on a 2x4.


The bus arrived and we scrambled to get on. At this moment I realized we are 'those people.' We were the morons who brought a baby to Vegas! Josh gets into an altercation with the bus driver about having a stroller in the isle. I'm balancing a very large one year old child on my hip, wearing a diaper bag and hanging onto the stripper pole for dear life.

Saturday morning arrives and all plans have changed. The super fun list of activities is in the garbage and we now have only two goals: hang out at the pool and have Mother's Day Brunch. Like complete fools, we decide to give Treasure Island's pool a try. But this time we were smart enough to drive. We meet up with our friends and head to the pool.

OH DEAR LORD! What in God's name have we gotten ourselves into! Josh rolls into the pool, dad style, with his trunks, white t-shirt and Oakley's, pushing a stroller. Jackson is sporting his best sea turtle swim shirt, crab trunks, swim shoes, monster hat and tiny baby sunglasses - still streaked from head to toe with SPF 50+. And then here I come. The freaking mama caboose of this family vacation pool party train wreck. I'm waddling and sporting the finest maternity swim dress. We're surrounded by hundreds of people, no older than 25. The music is bumping. There's a conga line in the pool. I've never seen such tiny swimwear in my life. I think some of the guys were wearing bikini bottoms. Not one sober person was within 100 yards. I say to Josh "I don't think there's room in this pool for Jackson's swim toys!" We were back at Circus Circus where we belonged faster than you could say Rubber Duck.

On the way home we stopped at Hoover Dam, an Area 54 gas station and a brothel owned by the same guy who owns the Bunny Ranch. We took pictures. Although awkward at times, we made our own fun. But we learned a very valuable lesson - Vegas is for making babies, not taking babies.

Mexican Pile

I know how much some of you enjoy my cooking style. So, like One Big Nacho, I bring you the Mexican Pile. My food isn't fancy. It's just tasty stuff that's easy to make with whatever you have laying around. I cook like a mom.

1 Box of Spanish Rice (prepare as directed)
1 lb ground beef (brown and season with a taco seasoning packet - or whatever you normally use on taco night)
1 can refried beans
1 can enchalada sauce
Shredded cheese (pick whatever variety you like. I don't measure this stuff. I'm convinced a whole bag is the right amount for any recipe)

Cook the rice and put it in a casserole dish. Layer the seasoned beef on top. Mix the beans with 1/2 can of enchalada sauce and spread it over the beefy goodness in the casserole dish. Pour the rest of the enchalada sauce over everything and top with cheese. Bake at 350 for about 20 minutes - just don't burn the cheese.

You can top it with taco goodies on your plate, eat it like a nacho dip or just dig in with a spoon. If you find my directions are incomplete or confusing - just go with your gut and wing it. I don't think you can screw up any recipe that has the word Pile in it.  

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.