Author: Big Mama

We were at the pool for five and a half hours yesterday. And while that’s not a personal record, it comes pretty darn close. It also explains the sunburn on my shoulders and my inability to form proper sentences at the moment.

But here I am anyway.

I’d also like to give a shout out to whoever decided to add soft pretzels to the pool menu. Before this summer I never sat around at the pool and thought about how much I’d like a soft pretzel, but now that they’re available I’m not sure how I survived without them.

So, where was I when I realized I was over my self-imposed 1,000 word limit and ended yesterday’s post?

We went to a wedding. Actually we didn’t just go to the wedding, but P actually performed the ceremony because he is a licensed minister. Like a real licensed minister, not just some type of internet licensed minister. He can marry people or bury people or landscape your yard. He can also bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan. P is what some folks may call a renaissance man.

Anyway, about three or four weeks ago, our friend, Stewart, called P to let him know he’d proposed to his girlfriend, Hannah, after three years of dating. This was especially significant to us because P is the one who set up Stewart and Hannah in the first place. So, oh yes, P can also add successful matchmaker to his resume.

Stewart asked if P would be willing to perform the ceremony and, by the way, they were planning to get married in less than a month. It would seem that after three years of dating each other, they didn’t feel there was much point in wasting any more time.

And that is how we ended up making the forty-five minute drive to Comfort, Texas on Sunday afternoon for one of my favorite weddings ever. Stewart and Hannah knew they didn’t want to do anything big, no Bridezilla or Brides Gone Out of Their Minds or Whacked Out Brides, just a simple wedding surrounded by their immediate family next to the Guadalupe River.

After P and Caroline picked me up from the airport, we picked up breakfast tacos so I could get a quick Mexican food fix. Then went home so I could unpack and repack. Caroline decided to help me and critiqued my choice of wedding attire by informing me, “All that dress says is ‘I LIKE BLUE AND GREEN AND THAT’S IT’.” But it was the only dress I had that was ironed and ready to go so I packed it anyway. Along with the Spanx I have to wear under it. Which Caroline referred to as “Mama’s bloomers”.

Yes.

Mama’s bloomers.

(Also, spellcheck doesn’t recognize the word “Spanx”. Clearly spellcheck has never had to worry about creating a smooth silhouette when you’re on the precipice of forty years old and have had a child.)

We dropped Caroline off to spend the night with a friend and we made the quick drive to the Haven River Inn in Comfort. The rest of the afternoon was spent swimming in the river with both families, including the bride and groom. Except the bride didn’t really swim because she didn’t want to get her hair wet and have to mess with washing and drying it before the wedding.

See what I’m saying? That is a relaxed bride.

Eventually it was time for us to all get ready and we went to our rooms to get dressed so we could meet back down by the river at 7:00 p.m. for the ceremony. This is where I regret to inform you that I have no pictures of the ceremony because I served as the videographer.

What? You didn’t know I had videographer skills?

That’s because I don’t.

A fact that I repeatedly told the bride who insisted, “How bad can it be?” A question that we’ll be able to answer after watching the video I took with a borrowed flip video while I prayed that the Lord would perform some type of fishes and loaves miracle on my paltry video abilities.

The ceremony was simple and beautiful. In fact, I told P that it’s exactly how I would do it if I found out tomorrow that we weren’t legally married and had to do the whole thing over again. I’m going to ignore his reference to a GET OUT OF JAIL FREE CARD.

He is hilarious.

And, also, we are very much legally wed. I double-checked.

But in all seriousness, of all the weddings I’ve ever attended I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a more joyous bride and groom. There is something to be said for simplicity.

After the ceremony, the bride’s parents had planned a beautiful dinner at Riven Rock Ranch. It was unbelievably beautiful. The food was amazing and the scenery was even better. Oh, and look! I actually have a picture of our tables.

Please notice there are no people seated at those tables. I am a whiz at capturing the real moments.

But I did manage to get one quick picture of the bride and groom with my phone. Heaven forbid I should use a real camera that takes a high-quality picture.

On the way home the next day, P and I talked about how blessed we felt to be a part of such a special day. There are just some moments you know you’ll never forget and this one was even better because we’ve been a part of Stewart and Hannah’s relationship from the very beginning and we love each of their families so much. To see them all brought together was evidence of one of God’s best plans.

And here’s where I’d normally wish them all the happiness in the world.

Except I think they’ve already found it.

I know.

I didn’t post a single thing yesterday. Frankly, I can’t believe it either.

But the last five days have been filled with a flight to Louisville, Kentucky (Not to be confused with Lexington. I hear that can happen.), four days at the last Deeper Still Conference, a Sunday morning flight back to San Antonio, two hours at home where I unpacked and repacked and then a quick trip to Comfort, Texas for the wedding of some dear friends, and watching the Aggies lose a baseball game 23-9 only to rebound and win last night for a trip to the College World Series.

(WHOOP!)

(And also, GIG ‘EM!)

Y’all. It has been a marathon. Or maybe a sprint. Or some other running analogy. All I know is I AM TIRED.

I also know that I have a lot of laundry to do and will have to go to the grocery store at some point. Fortunately that point wasn’t yesterday because I had told P to manage his expectations of any kind of home cooked meal being served.

The problem is that I don’t even know where to begin. The other problem is that I’m going on somewhere between zero and six hours of sleep. The other problem is that the T.V. in our living room broke on the last day of school. Which actually has nothing to do with the first two things, but I felt like I should include it while I’m composing a list of problems.

So let’s start with Thursday. Bops picked me up to drive me to the airport at 5:45. This is approximately three hours earlier than my desired wake up time and I probably should issue an apology to anyone who had to see me walk through the airport with bags under my eyes while growling and looking for the nearest Starbucks.

I arrived in Louisville after one grande non-fat latte and three bad magazines. (If you want to know the latest on Pippa Middleton just ask me. I know all about it, thanks to my never-ending quest for hard-hitting news stories.) We spent the rest of the day setting up the arena in Louisville and then I went back to the hotel to wait for Sophie to arrive so we could search out some mediocre Mexican food per our tradition. This is also when I noticed that Kentucky seemed to have an abnormally large number of folks that ride motorcycles. An observation that made much more sense when I realized our hotel was hosting some sort of biker convention as evidenced by a burly fellow wearing a denim jacket with the sleeves jauntily cut off with a Harley Davidson logo on the back. Oh, and he was missing an eye.

Once Sophie arrived we left go eat dinner, threw caution to the wind and ate very mediocre Mediterranean food instead. I can’t explain all the reasons why, but it’s largely due to us taking culinary advice from someone fresh out of college. And I don’t know if you know this, but college students aren’t really the best judge of good food. Take me for example. There was a time in my early twenties when I thought there was no finer meal than about four .99 cent crispy beef tacos from Taco Bell. Which explains an extra twenty pounds I put on between my sophomore and junior year. Well, the tacos and perhaps the Zima.

Friday morning we went back to the arena for the last of the set up and then back to the hotel until it was time for me to go do work that I prayed wouldn’t involve selling t-shirts for $2.00. And the Lord heard me and I helped with the greeters at a door where only about sixteen entered. Yet I still had the power of a walkie-talkie. It was perfection.

The rest of the weekend went by so fast and was a whirl of laughing until I thought I was going to be sick, spending time with friends, eating a bag of Double Chocolate Milanos and listening to some great messages. I wish I could put it all into words but that would be impossible.

Here are the cliff notes :

Priscilla taught about the importance of rest, which she referred to by the Hebrew term “Shabbat”. I plan to crack myself up regularly by telling people I need to take a Shabbat. Because I am twelve.

But in all seriousness it was such a good, practical message about creating some margin in our lives and not living lives that are filled with being so busy that all we end up knowing is that we’re tired.

Beth taught about the links between the generations and had every woman identify themselves as a Timothy, Eunice, or Lois based on 2 Timothy. It was all about how each generation has something to offer the others, but there is no way for me to explain it all because, well, I’m not Beth Moore. I was also thrilled to still be a Timothy and patted Sophie and consoled her for being a Eunice. Until she said, “You better listen to what she says about the Eunices because you’re hanging on to Timothy by a very thin, two month thread”.

And as I stood with the Timothys and saw all these darling young girls with tricky braids in their hair, I realized that YES, I am much closer to the Eunice side of things.

Finally it was Sunday morning and time for me to fly home. And this is where I am sad to report that the TSA went TOO FAR. They confiscated by almost full bottle of Garnier Wonder Waves hair spray. I knew I was playing fast and loose to think it would make it through security, but no one blinked an eye when I flew from San Antonio to Louisville. But those Kentucky TSA folks do NOT play around and they searched my entire suitcase thanks to my daring hair product escapade. AND they tried to take my Aveeno Face Scrub until I pointed out it was almost empty and was in NO WAY over three ounces of liquid. It was a narrow face scrub escape.

And I don’t really know what the moral of that story is unless it’s that maybe you shouldn’t feel totally secure flying out of the San Antonio airport because they will totally turn an eye to eight ounces of good hair product and who knows where that could lead?

All I know is there is some TSA agent in Kentucky who is probably rockin’ some good wavy beach hair.

I landed back in San Antonio and was so happy to see my peeps and eat some Mexican food for breakfast. And then it was time to head to a wedding.

But that’s a story for tomorrow.