My Journey to Independence (through a list of parts marked AA-EE)

If you heard crying and swearing coming from my backyard yesterday it’s because with Luke’s help, I put together a fire pit. To be quite honest, his help was minimal and came with a little bit of back-talk so I’m going forward with taking sole credit for this project.

With several sheets of instructions, tools, and many, many parts I was able to complete my task in about two and a half hours. (Please re-read the last sentence for effect.) Not to brag, but I’m a pretty big deal around my house this morning. My husband, Brantley said he was impressed and seemed sincere. His only criticism was, “I can’t believe you used the crappy wrench that came in the box. Classic rookie mistake.”

Half-way finished in this photo, and it was taken
right after I figured out how nuts and  bolts
work together. It makes so much sense now!!

I garnered so much respect out of this accomplishment that Brantley even sat through half of the telling of my dream from last night. I got all the way through the bear attack and my escape through a koi pond, but not quite to the volley ball tournament before he walked out saying, “Oh my God. I don’t care.” That’s progress, folks and for the record he should NOT ask why I was sleep screaming again unless he is willing to hear the WHOLE story.

Wobbling is cool, right?
Check and mate. Lori- 1. Brantley- 0. 

The Columbia Muddy Buddy: A Marriage Boot Camp

Today is Monday and my energy level has only now returned enough to rehash Saturday’s race known as, the Columbia Muddy Buddy. As the name suggests it was a buddy race. My partner was, you guessed it, Brantley Wescott. Suffice it to say, it was a dark day for our marriage. 

When we signed on to do this crazy thing the description said it would be somewhere between three and four miles, so I trained by running three and a half miles at a time. Finding out two days before the race that it was going to be four and a half miles was a little discouraging, but what was one more mile, right?
I started out strong and steady. We paced ourselves so as not to run out of steam too early. I had to save energy for the ten military style obstacles that were ahead. About every half mile there would be an obstacle. We climbed up and over several cargo nets, scaled an eight and a twelve foot wall (read: Brantley threw me over an eight and twelve foot wall), as well as a few other things that are hard to explain.
Another thing that wasn’t mentioned in the race description was the mountain we had to climb. You’d think they’d remember an enormous detail like that. To take it a step further, the entire race was a path that had been cleared going up, down and around a mountain. This made it impossible to run, even for the show-offs who would cling to this tree or that to keep from sliding back down. All up and down this mountain people were seated or leaning on a tree trying to catch their breath. This is the place where things got ugly for me. I failed to mention that the night before I had tripped and broken one of my toes. I have great timing. There was nothing I could do but tape it up and go. It hurt but wasn’t excruciating, that is until I met the mountain.
As I chugged slowly forward following several steps behind Brantley, he turned around to look at me. “Come on,” he said. “Put the move on it.”
“Ok, look. I’m not going to make it off this mountain. You go on ahead for supplies. Bring back something to make a hammock.”
He wasn’t being sympathetic and the space between us had widened. “Oh, stop it. Just come on,” he said and with that began climbing even faster.
“Screw you and screw this mountain!”
Brantley had heard enough and proceeded to ascend all the way to the top without his buddy. My tortoise pace continued up the mountain when I saw what angered me even more. Brantley had become bored from waiting on me and was on his way back down to get me and climb back up again. I said some very bad words, but ultimately put him to use by pushing me from behind. That was all I needed, just a little help for the last fifty or so feet. When we finally made it to the top I turned to look at all the people still climbing up behind us. Losers. But, the celebration was over. We still had two and a half miles to go.
There came a point around the last mile and a half when I began having cold chills. There were goose bumps all over my arms and legs. I was fairly certain that it wasn’t a great sign, but we were in the middle of nowhere and there was no telling where the next water station would be. So I kept going. The next obstacle was a giant inflatable slide covered by a cargo net. I climbed the cargo net to the top then went down the slide. When I lost my stomach on the way down a wave of nausea hit me. I walked over to the water table and started drinking. One of the volunteers said something to me to which I replied, “I’m sorry, but I can’t hear you because my ears a ringing so loudly.”
“Hurry up and come on,” my partner urged, so off we went. “Why are you shaking?” Brantley asked ever so insensitively.
“Because I’m cold,” I said with a look that meant, “Don’t ask anymore stupid questions.”
The next obstacle came about a half mile later. It was a balance beam. I was in no shape to balance on anything, so reluctantly I had to pass. Fortunately, there was only another mile to go and we finally made it to the end. The very last obstacle was the giant mud pit through which you had to crawl under a net. Mud had never felt so good.
And that was the Muddy Buddy. It was over. Believe it or not, I had a good time. As awful as I made it sound, there was never a point when I regretted being out there. I did regret not having trained in the heat more (I trained mostly in the early morning). Heat intolerance was a definite factor in my performance, but we finished and we weren’t last. Even though I hadn’t completed every obstacle and I had to be partially pushed up a mountain, I was proud of myself. I may even do it again one day.

Starting line


Finish line in the distance to the right
Before the race
After
Everyone hosing off after the race

Against All Odds: A Harrowing Tale of Vacation, Marriage, and Pancakes

I had a rough night with Luke last night, and as a result I didn’t get much sleep. Brantley and I are alternating sleeping in Luke’s bed with him while we’re on vacation, and he struggles through a little nightmare phase. If a million reasons just popped into your head on why this is a bad idea, just keep it to yourself because we each get a good night sleep every other night. All was well until 4:30 this morning when I started feeling a tap tap tapping on my shoulder.

“Hey Mom, it’s me, Wucas. I need a snack.”
“Go back to sleep,” I mustered through gritted teeth.
“But I’m so hawngry. It’s morning time.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Mom, you be kiddin’ me.”

This went on for quite some time before I finally turned on Tom and Jerry to pacify him before going back to sleep. I have no idea how much time passed, but some time later I heard Brantley’s thunderous footsteps coming down the hall. Luke greeted him sweetly with, “Good morning, Dad. Mom won’t wake up and it’s morning time.”

I could hear Brantley make his way toward me. I pulled the covers off of my head with my standard growl and hiss. (It’s imperative that I exert my dominance early on in the day, otherwise Brantley spends a whole day feeling drunk with power.)

“I brought you something,” he said.

There before me was a pancake and bacon breakfast with a cup of coffee. This was an especially sweet gesture considering Brantley version 2.0 doesn’t eat pancakes or drink coffee. He had done it all for me. I was almost speechless. All I could think to say was, “I’m sorry for cussing at you in my head.”

Now, I’m not one to jump to conclusions, and I certainly don’t want to jinx anything, but after eight years together I’m starting to think this marriage just may work.

My boys

With a new train and giant lollipop it’s obvious who is REALLY drunk with power.

The full article: The Doghouse and a Three Hour Lunch

My apologies for a non-functioning link yesterday.  Here is the full article in all its glory…

I found myself in a new position this past Valentine’s Day.  Get your minds out of the gutter.  I’m referring to the doghouse.  Here’s how it all went down.  Every weekday my husband, Brantley, listens to the radio show, Three Hour Lunch, on 104.5 The Zone.  You could call it his “me” time, and during our tenure together I have had quite a few chances to enjoy the show myself.  Blaine Bishop, Clay Travis and Brent Dougherty are the hosts, and even though I don’t always know what they’re talking about they still manage to make me laugh.  Well, yesterday I got one of my really good ideas.  I thought, “Wouldn’t it be great if I infiltrated Brantley’s precious radio show by being one of the callers?”  I toyed with this idea while I listened to the humorous Three Hour Lunch commentary.  It was around noon when one of the hosts brought up the subject of bad Valentine’s Day gifts.  He said they would be taking calls and wanted to hear about the worst Valentine’s Day gift you ever received.  However, it sounded more to me like, “Hey Lori, it’s God.  Call this number.  Everyone would LOVE to hear what you have to say.”  How could I say no?
I almost died when I heard, “Lori from Nolensville, you’re on the air with Three Hour Lunch.”  I tried to keep it short and sweet while sticking to the facts.  “Hey guys, I love your show.  I wanted to tell you that the worst Valentine’s Day gift I ever received was a hair dryer from my husband.”  The collective group broke into laughter and one of the hosts asked why my husband would’ve gotten me such a thing.  I went on to explain that he was a pharmacist when one of the fellas interrupted with, “No, he DID NOT just pick something off the shelf at Walgreen’s while he was at work?”
I came to the end of my story and was quite certain I would soon be cut off, but I wasn’t quite finished.  I can’t recall my exact words, but it went something like this.  “Guys, if I may, I’d like to send him a Valentine over the airways while he listens on his way to work. Hey honey, SUCK IT!”  My comments were again met with laughter, and as I guessed I was promptly cut off.  I waited about ten seconds and then called my husband, Brantley.  I could tell by his voice that he was a little apprehensive, but he laughed it off.  However, as the day passed, he had more time to think it over, and I guess it hurt his ego a bit.  I began feeling a little coldness in his text messages.  I asked if he was angry and he responded with, “No more radio calls for you.”  I couldn’t believe it.  It was my first radio call ever, and I had rocked it.  He couldn’t make me hide my light under a bushel.  Or could he?
I started feeling guilty, but why?  It’s not like public ridicule is new to our relationship.  It may be a first for the radio, but I’ve been making fun of him twice a week for three years on the web, and he has (almost) always approved.  Not to mention, playful teasing is how I show my affection.  I’m like the eight-year-old boy who runs up and punches you in the stomach on the playground to tell you that he’s interested. 
Regardless of my explanations and excuses, I was in the doghouse.  I can honestly say that I haven’t spent a lot of time there during our relationship so that either means I’m really awesome, or my husband is really forgiving.  Assuming that the latter is most likely true, I decided to make some changes.  So, from now on, I am going to make a concerted effort to stay out of his sacred, sports radio territory, and if that includes Three Hour Lunch, then so be it.  (Single tear rolls down my cheek.)  I will also try to mature in my displays of affection to that of at least a fifth grade level, and to prove that, I have one question for my dear, sweet husband.  Will you go with me?  Check yes or no. 

The Doghouse and a 3-Hour Lunch

I found myself in a new position this past Valentine’s Day.  Get your minds out of the gutter.  I’m referring to the doghouse.  Here’s how it all went down.  Every weekday my husband, Brantley, listens to the radio show, Three Hour Lunch, on 104.5 The Zone.  You could call it his “me” time, and during our tenure together I have had quite a few chances to enjoy the show myself.  Blaine Bishop, Clay Travis and Brent Dougherty are the hosts, and even though I don’t always know what they’re talking about they still manage to make me laugh.  Well, yesterday I got one of my really good ideas.  I thought, “Wouldn’t it be great if I infiltrated Brantley’s precious radio show by being one of the callers?”  I toyed with this idea while I listened to the humorous Three Hour Lunch commentary.  It was around noon when one of the hosts brought up the subject of bad Valentine’s Day gifts.  He said they would be taking calls and wanted to hear about the worst Valentine’s Day gift you ever received.  However, it sounded more to me like, “Hey Lori, it’s God.  Call this number.  Everyone would LOVE to hear what you have to say.”  How could I say no?

Happy Marriage Tips

In order to maintain a long and healthy marriage avoid ever asking your wife, “Are you wearing a bra?” Nothing good can come from the awaiting conversation. If you are lucky she will answer you abruptly. However, if you aren’t lucky, she will answer your stupid question with her own question. “Do you think I’m wearing a bra?” If you find yourself up this creek, try and change the subject to something nostalgic, like how magical your first date was. Chicks love stuff like that. Then, ask her if she would like something to drink, or perhaps a foot rub. Hopefully by then, she will have forgotten your insensitive faux pas and the fact that her nipples are being pinched by the elastic waist band in her granny panties.

Now let’s say you weaseled your way out of trouble for the last question, and you ignorantly assume her reaction to the foot rub means that she is ready for a roll in the hay. Under no circumstances is it ok to replace foreplay with the line, “Hey, you busy?” Whether you’ve been married a week or a half century, the sound of your voice is most likely no longer giving her goose bumps so you’re going to have to try a little harder. (I’m not naming names.) In the end, you will be pleased with the result and so will your wife.

Remember fellas. They cook your meals. They clean your house. They raise your kids AND provide a much needed second income. It would be wise to keep them in good spirits.

It’s Dr. Lori

I awoke this morning with an email from the website, Masters in Counseling. It seems as though Loripalooza has been included in their “50 Best Blogs for Marriage Advice,” where we are listed at number four. Holy self-improvement, Batman! Loripalooza has never looked so legitimate. I feel inspired to do something worthwhile today. I probably wont, but still, I’m inspired.

And, yet there’s the cynic in me that smells the irony in all of this. Is it possible to be entertaining AND therapeutic? And why does irony smell so much like a dirty diaper? Oh wait, that’s something else. I must be going. A mother’s work is never done.

Many thanks to Masters in Counseling. Click HERE to check out the other forty nine winners and get your marriage back on track after burning last night’s dinner. You know who you are.