So last week was a really bad week. Like really, really bad. But I've already blogged about that, blah blah blech, and now I wanna blog about something better.
On Thursday, my breaking point hit when I realized that the next day was Friday and I couldn't go to my cousin's wedding. Not that I truly couldn't go; it's just that after the week we had, I didn't think my boys could handle it, nor did I think I could handle my boys there, nor did I feel confident enough to have the energy to drive 2.5 hours each way to take my 5 children to a wedding (a type of event never attended by Paloma, Keenan and Miles) sans the Mister, who was still in Vegas.
I had a huge, messy, yelling, sobbing, whoa-as-me pity party/tantrum to my dear Mister over the telephone. Who lovingly listened, and then said,
"I get the fact that this is hard, but You.Need.to.Go. You will drown in resentment if you don't go, and that's not healthy."
I think I said something not very nice to him. Okay, I know I said something not very nice to him. (Sorry, Mister) Because I can be kinda immature like that.
Later that night, when brushing my teeth, I had a vision of my little Polish grandma loving on my children and my children loving on her.
The Mister was right.
I needed to go. I would drown in resentment if I would let my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week stop me.
So the next morning, I decided that I would go, if and only if, I could fit into one of the dresses kind Jill lent to moi.
Not only did it fit, I had shoes to match. Really adorable, hyper-super, too cute for words, shoes (Geralyn, these shoes would make you proud, girlfriend!) that I bought at DSW warehouse 3 1/2 years ago because they were too cute not to purchase, but I have only worn once because damned if I know with what outfit to wear them.
However, fast forward 3 1/2 years, and I realized that these shoes were made for Jill's dress.
This is an omen, I thought.
Not that I'm a big believer in omens, but that I'm a Polish girl married to a Chamorro man. So by blood and marriage default, I abide by omens.
By then, it was pretty last minute, and I managed to pull the kids together (and oddly enough, we were all wearing clothes either loaned to us or passed down to us by the Boone's) and get us out the door.
We made it to the wedding with 3 minutes to spare.
And I'm so glad we did.
(Realize, though, that even though this story has a happy ending, that I did fully recognize taking children with attachment/anger issues to a wedding carries a HUGE potential for absolute disaster. I knew these risks going into it, but after weighing my options, I realized that I would carry far more resentment and anger towards my son if I didn't go at all, than if I went and he was a perfect beast there. I don't want to feel any anger/resentment towards my son, and so this was the best choice for us.
Furthermore, rest assured, I was prepared for a potential absolute disaster by locating the hotel nearest the reception location in case my children were uncontrollable and I needed to imbibe a significant amount of vino to cope. Can you say, That Lady Gots Her Ducks in a Row?!?)
My children upon arrival, in front of the cupcake tower, topped with a Harley. Because this is Wisconsin, after all, and my cousin and his wife are Harley people. And when you are Harley people who live in Wisconsin, you put a Harley atop your wedding cake. (Isn't my blog an absolute wealth of regional information?!?)
Further proof that I took my five kids to a wedding, by myself, and had a great time!
At the reception, Jimmy loved and Hatfield teased KeKe.
Miles was amazed that the bride somehow knew his favorite color and type of flower and made the party favors just for him. 'Cause my family is telepathically caring like that.
Atticus could not figure out why our super cute waiter chimed, "Denied!" when he asked him for a glass of champagne.
All the kids luv'd on Great Grandma Frannie.
And after the meal, my kids tore up the dance floor.
I didn't. Because while super cute my kids tore up the floor, my super cute shoes tore up my feet.
But I don't care. Because those shoes are that cute.