Category Archives: Archives + Other

I’ll Tell You a Secret

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You named me what?

It’s not a big secret; just a little baby one. Huddle up. My name isn’t really Kari. I mean, it is Kari, but it’s really Carrie. I changed the spelling when I was 13 for no reason at all. It’s not my fault though. My dad started things off right by spelling it Carry on my birth certificate. Carry is a verb not a name, in case we aren’t clear on that. It’s fine though. One daughter out of six children and you make her a verb—no biggie. High five for the effort there dad.

My dad (who believes himself never to be wrong) claims he spelled it Carry on purpose so he could tell ask me to carry things for him. Good one, dad. I heard that joke about every two minutes growing up— “Carrie will you carry this” hardee, har, har. Of course my dad will deny all of this. I can hear him now– “I never said that!” Sure dad. I just hallucinated all the way through my childhood, that’s it.

Actually, when I heard “Carrie will you carry this” is the only time I ever heard myself called Carrie because my dad always just called me “girl.” I guess when you’re the only female running around it works but I still have a complex about it. My mom and my brothers just called me “sis” and still do. The boys (my brothers) were just “the boys”…although none of them were ever verbs. To level the playing field I would like to announce all their real names: Robert, William, Michael, Bradford, and Christopher. Shall we do middle names too? Yes, I think so: Robert Lee (the 2nd, mind you), William Eugene, Michael Harold, Bradford Neal, and Christopher Thomas. Bam. It’s on the internet. That’s what “the boys” get for not reading this—no say whatsoever when their full names are revealed on the ol internet. Wahahahaha <———————– Laugh of power and conniving. It’s okay, none of their real names are even that bad so we can all move on.

You mess with me, I mess with you

Changing the spelling of my name was fun until it was confusing. When I went to college, I had to list my legal name on everything but then when I turned in exams and such I would spell it the super awesome way with a K. Some of my teachers seriously started to question whether I even knew how to spell my name.

After college came work and marriage and the confusion continued. Everything legal has to have it spelled with a C. This always goes down the same way: I’m at the bank, new job, wherever filling out paperwork. I sign my name first with a K and then realize it doesn’t match my license and such and won’t fly. So I, blushing, try to explain that, oh actually, I spelled my name wrong on that…I’ll just ex that out and try again. This is of course not the best way to open a bank account or start a new job. The people at the bank always look at me like I’m a criminal trying to steal someone’s identity.

After I got married and changed my last time, I tried to legally change the spelling of my first name to end the confusion once and for all. They wouldn’t let me do it. Can you believe that? Geez. It’s my name isn’t it. Well, at least that’s what I told my parents in junior high when refusing to spell it the “right way” as they call it.

Oh, and to rub it in that I spell my name the “wrong way” my parents started spelling everything the wrong way. My dad spells daddy “dadi.” Are you kidding me? My parents have always called me Ladybug. I have no idea why. You would think if you had a nickname your whole life you would remember some story or reason as to why. Nope. No idea. Anyway, now my parents spell it Ladibug. Funny aren’t they? It wasn’t that bad until I started blogging and my mother decided to go ahead and call me Ladibug in all of her comments. Oh good, she’s using my childhood nickname…spelled wrong 8/

It’s okay. I get my vengeance by telling stories about them on the internet. Who knows what I’ll decide to talk about next. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it though…it’s just your whole life spelled out on the World Wide Web :]

Call me Ladybug one more time…

Weekend Adventures

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Today we went to the air show at Westover AFB. Here are a few pictures of our day:

Rocking uncle Darren’s glasses :]

My cutie pie nephews

We build parts for this helicopter at work. It’s cool seeing the final product all those hours go into.

People were crowded under the plane wings to escape the sun. I laughed at them for a while and then decided they were on to something :]

Caleb likes making faces and seeing his reflection in uncle Darren’s glasses…and well, just terrorizing uncle Darren in general :]

I really love this guy…and all the faces he makes for me and my camera 8]

Ethan just gave up on life. I don’t blame him, it really was so ridiculously hot.

Ethan with Maya (mom, his mom I mean, not my mom…never mind)

You know how the sun hates me? This is what it did to me today:

I give up.

Have a nice weekend, kids :]

Nature and Emotion

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I didn’t realize until recently how deeply nature impacts my mood and emotions. I had gone for a walk in the woods and was taking everything in around me—the smell of pine, the warmth of the sun on my skin, the crunch of the leaves beneath my feet. I felt so alert and peaceful, so relaxed.

That’s when it occurred to me that the times I’m away from nature, cooped up in an office or at home, those are the times when I start getting stressed out and frustrated about every little thing. When I’m inside all the time, that’s when I start feeling down and start wondering if and when things are going to get better instead of seeing the beauty all around me.

When I’m outside, moving and enjoying the world around me, that’s when I see my life with a sense of hope and purpose.

During that walk in the woods, Darren and I decided to wade in the stream. We took of our sandals and walked in the ice cold water looking for wishing stones and marveling at the teeny, tiny fish. We climbed across the branches of a tree fallen across the water and planned out camping trips and days at the ocean. We dreamt up a house in the woods with a big yard and lots of room to move and breathe. Everything we talked about, everything we dreamt of had to do with nature and being outside moving.

I told Darren what I had realized during our day in the woods. I told him I thought being outside enjoying nature and being physically active had a huge impact on my mood and emotions. He said he thought the same was true for him too. The more time he spends inside sitting still, the worse he feels. The more we get outside, the better we feel about life and ourselves.

There is something so artificial about the way we live indoors. The way the fake air feels when its air conditioned or heated is nothing like the warmth of sunlight or the crispness of a cool breeze. The television and music we saturate ourselves with is cheap entertainment compared to the sound of leaves rustling, streams bubbling, and birds chirping.

We went camping a couple weeks ago in Vermont. At night we sat around a campfire roasting marshmallows and laughing with friends. I sat there by the cozy flames looking up and marveling at the night sky—a black canvas poked through with light from other worlds. The smell of the smoke, the sound of laughter echoing off the green mountains—mmmm, there is nothing like it. There is nowhere else I would rather be.

So the next time I get restless or feel down, I’m taking off to the woods. This won’t always solve the problem, of course. Moods and emotions are deeper and more complicated than a birds song can sometimes solve. But maybe stretching my legs and breathing fresh air will solve the problem without anything else needing to be done. And even if it doesn’t, I think I’m more likely to figure out what does need to be done when I’m outside moving and enjoying nature than I ever will cooped up inside breathing the fake air.

Our Short, Delicate Lives

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I’ve been going back and forth debating about whether or not to share this and decided I should since it’s something that’s really been on my mind.

On the 4th of July, my husband and I watched a woman die right in front of us.

We were on our way to see fireworks like everyone else that night. We had just left my brother-in-law’s house when we saw a guy and girl jump off a motorcycle and go running down the sidewalk beside us. They just dropped the bike on the ground and took off and I wondered what was so important that they couldn’t even park the bike. I looked away from them running for a second and saw a woman lying in the road right in front of us. I grabbed Darren’s arm and told him to “Stop! Stop! Stop! There’s a woman in the road!” He stopped the car right in front of her.

I looked back at the man and woman from the motorcycle as they ran past our car screaming. There were parts of another motorcycle laying all over the road and a car that looked like it had been hit. I started to dial 911 but before I could even put the number through an ambulance pulled in beside us.

The woman lay in front of us, eyes closed, motionless. We were hoping she was just knocked out. We thought since the ambulance got there immediately, maybe she would be okay. She wasn’t. She died right there in the middle of the road.

The woman on the motorcycle collided head on with the vehicle in front of us. The impact was so great it broke her bike into pieces and killed her almost instantly.

I found out later the man who jumped off the other bike was the woman’s husband.

I watched a man watch his wife die in the middle of the road; I can’t get that out of my head.

Watching someone die stops you in your tracks. Death makes you look at life in gripping detail.

This accident happened three days before mine and Darren’s anniversary and this woman’s death was heavy on our minds and in our words often as we spent that weekend away together.

We look back now and realize how different all could have been.

We look back and realize if we had left the house even seconds sooner, we could have been the car that hit her. It’s hard to comprehend the timing; my brother-in-law left seconds before us. We had to turn the car around and left right after him. Somehow, in the time we turned around, the car involved in the accident got between my bro-in-law and us.

How does it happen that a fatal accident occurs between our two vehicles only seconds down the road from each other and none of us were hurt or involved?

I think about all these things anew today as I hear about the shooting in Colorado. What grips me most is the story of a fellow WordPress blogger, Jessica Redfield (blog), who was killed last night in the theatre shooting. Just a month before, Jessica had dodged a mall shooting that took place minutes after she stepped outside (read full story here) . In her blog post about the mall shooting Jessica said:

“I was shown how fragile life was on Saturday. I saw the terror on bystanders’ faces. I saw the victims of a senseless crime. I saw lives change. I was reminded that we don’t know when or where our time on Earth will end. When or where we will breathe our last breath. For one man, it was in the middle of a busy food court on a Saturday evening.

I say all the time that every moment we have to live our life is a blessing. So often I have found myself taking it for granted. Every hug from a family member. Every laugh we share with friends. Even the times of solitude are all blessings. Every second of every day is a gift. After Saturday evening, I know I truly understand how blessed I am for each second I am given.”

And now, just a month later, in yet another random shooting, Jessica is dead. She was one of us—a writer, a blogger, a WordPresser, a girl living life and telling stories—just like us.

And now she’s gone like so many others who lost their lives last night.

It all makes me stop and think about how delicate our short lives are. I don’t share all this to scare people. I share it because, like Jessica, after I watched a woman die, I realized how easily it could have been me. I realized that I don’t know when I’ll live my last day or take my last breath.

After watching that woman die, I’ve seen myself differently in the day-to-day. When I get upset at Darren over something stupid, I’m struck by the reality that my petty, frustrated words could be the last ones I ever speak to him.

During the day before we came up on that accident, Darren and I argued about who would go from work to pick up lunch. We complained about the heat and the traffic. Those words could have been the last ever spoken to each other.

I’m so thankful they weren’t.

I’m so thankful I got to snuggle up with him that night and tell him I was sorry for my words earlier in the day.

I’m so thankful we got to spend that weekend together celebrating our anniversary.

I’m so thankful for every moment and every breath we get together.

Because, as much as I don’t want to think about it, we never know what words will be our last words. We never know—and that very uncertainty has sunk into my soul.

When I catch myself being petty, I must stop and realize that I don’t know and there’s not a moment to waste on anything but love.

My heart goes out to everyone involved in the Colorado shooting.

God give them grace.

–Kari

Between Here and Forever

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Sometimes I can’t figure out what the point of life is. Every day is so much like the last with work, bills, cooking, and cleaning. We go through the same routine over and over just to accomplish all we need to survive in this world for one more day. But why? Isn’t there more purpose and meaning to my life than doing the laundry and filling out stacks of paper at work?

I was thinking through all these morbid little thoughts the other day and the thought hit me: The point is not the activity; the point is the result of the activity.

Let me explain: At work, I sit at a desk filling out stacks of mindless paperwork. I hate that desk. I swear, some of that paperwork ate parts of my soul and is eyeing my imagination and creativity next. Sometimes I think I might die at that desk…just die of boredom right there in my chair. But then I had that thought and it made me realize the point is not the work I do sitting at that desk, the point is the character I’m developing by sitting there doing stuff I don’t want to. Sitting there has helped me develop (mostly against my will) patience, endurance, persistence, and the ability to push through and accomplish what I must even if I think it might kill me. The work itself seems pointless; it seems like I’m whittling my life away on nonsense. But, there is purpose—that being the better person I am hopefully becoming by pushing through difficult situations.

I know it’s been said many times in many ways, “Life is a journey not a destination.” I’ve heard that saying so many times the truth in it was lost on me. But I’m starting to realize how true it is that life is more than just a race from one goal to the next. Life is more than what I do day in and day out. Life is the person I’m becoming. Life is the lessons I’m learning. Life is routine, yes, but even the routine serves a purpose in helping me grow and change through the boredom and struggles.

I’m starting to realize I need to stop getting bogged down in the daily responsibilities of life and need to start looking for the lessons and opportunities in my daily routine. I know myself. I know I will always get bored easy and I will always hate that desk. I love change and love having something new and exciting to look forward to. But life doesn’t always work that way. Sometimes you just have to sit at your desk and fill out paperwork like a grownup.

This is the life I’ve been given and this is the road I’m on right now. So rather than trying to just change and escape my present circumstances, what can and should I be doing to grow and change right now today? That’s a question I will be asking myself a lot going forward.

Someday that desk will be behind me; but I hope it’s not left behind even one day before I’ve learned to accept the life I have with gratitude and contentment and not one day before I’ve learned to grow and change wherever I am, whatever I’m doing.

“Fear and doubt always seem to find people who are looking for them; hope and courage do the same thing.” Bob Goff

Mad Love

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Today I should be writing about something awfully important. But I’m not. I tried you know. But I’ve just been sitting here in a standoff with my computer screen and the two of us (the computer and I) decided it’s best if today I just drink coffee and write something unimportant. I hope you don’t mind. If you do, well, don’t read it genius. So, today, I’m going to just tell you that I have mad love for a few things in life. Isn’t it funny how we all have our likes and dislikes and how our loves and hates make us each the unique people that we are? fascinating :] Here are a few of the things that make me who I am, for better or for worse. I wrote them down in the order they came to me so now you see how cluttered and befuddled my brain is:

Potatoes. coffee. beige. Thoreau. scarves. boots. leather bags. Fossil. Harrison Ford. mocha. Dunkin’ Donuts. books. tea. blogging. brothers. words. nature. birds. Faith. pasta. architecture. paper. Darren. Rachel T. laughter. letters. Ashley B. adventure. dreams. flowers. Quick Trip. Missouri. dirt roads. sweeping plains. moody oceans. the woods. Jean Webster. Daddy-Long-Legs book. Boston. cannoli. Italy. travel. walking. poppies. feta. art. brown gravy. french fries. dresses. ruffles. hugs. warm blankets. fireplaces. the smell of smoke. birch trees. fall. pumpkin spice lattes. black nail polish. camping. flip-flops. green chilies. Anthropologie. OneRebublic. barns. the country. Gilly Hicks. journals. maps. sci-fi. sweaters. jeans. ink. Relevant Magazine. The National Geographic. Prison Break. Little Women. silence. wood floors. colonial houses. Massachusetts. bookstores. cafes. Chipotle. trees. fire flies. flying. clean sheets. American Eagle. home. Pontiac. America. cello. navy. sleep. writing. typing. Cracker Barrel. a clean house. nephews & nieces. pictures. sarcasm. poetry. warm clothes. bacon. tree houses. WordPress. #2 pencils. decorating. creating. honesty. surprises. school. birds singing. fire. black eye liner. rain. seltzer. Arnold Palmers. cheese. olive oil. bread. being left-handed. 7. Twilight. Shakespeare. Hugh Jackman. archaeology. typewriters. vintage. Abercrombie & Fitch. mud. Country Living. The Office. blush pink. canvases. psychology books. home. feathers. gray. Bryan Adams. rotary phones. down blankets. York Peppermint Patty coffee creamer. family. freckles. florals. cider. Pottery Barn. Cavallini. green beans. mom’s fried chicken. spaghetti sauce. blue prints. Brian Regan. murder mysteries. staying up late. mascara. C.S. Lewis. getting packages in the mail. changes. mason jars. Xbox. pie. you. dandelions. red woods. tire swings. typography.

Unfortunately, potatoes outranked both my husband and my faith but at least I’m honest :]

What makes you you?

Telegrams Rock -(Stop)-

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I have this very cool friend, Ashley, that just gets me. She’s the kind of girl who peeks into your soul and takes a piece of your heart with her. Okay, that was a little bit dramatic but you know what I’m sayin’. She gets my stupid sense of humor and my love for random weirdness and there are just very, very few people in the world I have more fun with.

Ashley and I write each other hand-written letters all the time because we are awesome like that. Ashley taps hers out on an old vintage typewriter (named Watson, because it only makes sense to name your typewriter?) and I write mine on my very-special-occasion fancy pants stationery used only for the people I love best of all. Every letter from Ashley is a riot. I have thought about starting a place on this blog just to share her letters because they are just too funny and wonderful to keep all to myself.

ANYWAY

The other day I went to the mailbox and found a big yellow envelope with Telegram written across the top of it. I first squealed then ran to the house to open it up. When I opened it I found an old-fashioned looking note that read:

DEAR KARI  -(STOP)-  EPIC ADVENTURE AHEAD  -(STOP)-  POSSIBLE JAIL TIME  -(STOP)-  MOVING TO LAND OF VERY LARGE COWS  -(STOP)-  TEXAS  -(STOP)-  THEY FRY FOLKS DOWN THERE  -(STOP)-  BOSTON IN AUG  -(STOP)-  HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING ILLEGAL IN AGES  -(STOP)-  CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU  -(STOP)-  AM SECRETLY TERRIFIED OF SAID VERY LARGE COWS  -(STOP)-  LOVE ASHLEY B  -(STOP)-

After reading this, I danced around the kitchen for a solid five minutes squealing about how this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I get excited about real mail–but a freaking telegram on vintage paper in a big yellow envelope? Well kids, it doesn’t get any better than that.

Check the website out at Telegramstop to join in on the awesomeness. Or just be friends with someone really awesome who knows how to make you dance around the kitchen for five minutes.

Dandelion

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Oh, Taraxacum officinale, you whimsical hippy flower. You start out golden and vain–sunshiny hair blowing in the wind. You grace spring early–hurrying the snow on its way, standing tall before the other flowers have courage enough to poke heads through the cold, damp sod. You are called “dent de lion”–lion’s tooth, with lion-like mane of fierce, unruly hair. But your life is short-lived, dear dandelion. The sun begins to warm and your sunshiny hair begins to fade. Your glowing mane turns fuzzy frenzy. The soft breeze blows your soft hair away. You are gray and balding. Hippy flower that you are, will not submit to the rules of age and even in balding you delight in your own magical way. Each lock of hair a magic wand in the wind. You let down your hair–sprinkling it across the land, through the woods–like mystical fire flies flitting through the night. You proud, vain perfectly perfect hippy flower.

dandi blue

dandi green

 

Beauty and Strength of the Old

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My great-grandparents Clarence and Dorothy Williams

I am a very lucky girl. I’ve had the privilege of knowing all four of my grandparents and my great-grandmother. And not only did I get to know them, but knew them well enough to count them as friends. I always joke about how I come from a long line of eccentric women and never stood a chance–my grandma is a bit of a firecracker :] But I really am so thankful for each of the men and women who are a part of my heritage and helped make me who I am. I’m especially close to my grandmother, or Grams, as we call her. My brothers and I are her only grandchildren so we got spoiled having her and Pops (grandpa) all to ourselves. I also got to live with Grams and Pops during the summers when home from college and got to soak up special times and memories with them during those years.

Grams and Pops with my mom and Uncle Mark at the Kansas City fire station where my grandpa was a firefighter and Captain for 25 years

Grams came out last fall and spent a month with me and Darren. We took off and explored all the corners of New England during those four weeks. We sat on Hampton Beach enjoying the moody ocean on New Hampshire’s coastline. We walked around Brattleboro and took in all the breathtaking beauty of the fall leaves in Vermont. We sat in a 1950s diner in Connecticut sipping malts, playing music on the jukebox, and sharing stories. We explored Old Orchard Beach, the Height of the Land, and the lighthouse on Port Elizabeth in Maine. We took the ferry to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty and walked until we couldn’t take another step exploring the streets of New York City. We poked around antique stores here in Massachusetts and happened upon The Apple Barn Café–a hole in the wall restaurant that has since become my favorite breakfast joint. We sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee and sharing memories. Snuggled up on the couch watching chick flicks and every movie we could find based on a John Grisham novel. We thought, since Grams is full-blooded German, ourselves qualified to try our hand at German cooking–we aren’t. Everything we made ended up in the trash where it belonged.
Those four weeks are very special to me–every moment, every memory we created and shared I hold onto and cherish. I hold on because I know I can’t have the people I love forever. I’ve lost two of my grandparents in the last 18 months so the reality of saying goodbye is real and present. You get used to the people around you and take for granted the ones you love–until they are taken away and there is no more time to call “when you get a chance” or visit when “you’re not so busy.” I realize too, that my Gram is a very special lady and I’m very lucky having her in my life. Gram, like so many older people, has experienced life in both its exhilarating heights and its dark depths. And in living through so much, she has gained wisdom and experience I don’t have at 26.

Pops with my mom and uncle Mark

Our fast-paced American society doesn’t always value older people but having spent so much time with my grandparents and other older adults, I truly believe they are some of the most beautiful and valuable people we can ever know. Society idolizes youth–the strength, beauty, creativity, and zeal of the young. Young people do have much to offer but we aren’t the only ones with something to offer. We may possess a beauty and strength unique to youth–but let us not overlook the very different, but very real, beauty and strength of the old. What is real beauty after all? The young woman with firm skin and glossy hair, untouched my life and heartache? Or the grandmother with wrinkles and gray hair–each wrinkle a mark of life’s journey–of hard work, heartache, and heart overflowing? The gray hair earned–earned staying up late and getting up early caring for the young, carrying life’s burdens so the young wouldn’t have to. Am I wiser at 26 because I can think and move faster than I will at 86?

My great-grandparents Clem and Catherine Denning

I came across this letter written from an aging mother to her daughter; it’s such a good challenge and reminder about how we should love and respect the old:
“My dear girl, the day you see I’m getting …old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I’m going through. If when we talk, I repeat the same thing a thousand times, don’t interrupt to say: “You said the same thing a minute ago”… Just listen, please. Try to remember the times when you were little and I would read the same story night after night until you would fall asleep. When I don’t want to take a bath, don’t be mad and don’t embarrass me. Remember when I had to run after you making excuses and trying to get you to take a shower when you were just a girl? When you see how ignorant I am when it comes to new technology, give me the time to learn and don’t look at me that way… remember, honey, I patiently taught you how to do many things like eating appropriately, getting dressed, combing your hair and dealing with life’s issues every day… the day you see I’m getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I’m going through. If I occasionally lose track of what we’re talking about, give me the time to remember, and if I can’t, don’t be nervous, impatient or arrogant. Just know in your heart that the most important thing for me is to be with you. And when my old, tired legs don’t let me move as quickly as before, give me your hand the same way that I offered mine to you when you first walked. When those days come, don’t feel sad… just be with me, and understand me while I get to the end of my life with love. I’ll cherish and thank you for the gift of time and joy we shared. With a big smile and the huge love I’ve always had for you, I just want to say, I love you… my darling daughter.”
For every wrinkle and scar from life’s journey, for every moment lived and every experience gained, for the wisdom of years, for the love and patience given to care for the young, for the sacrifices made to benefit those who follow–let us value and honor the old. Let us be patient when they forget, remembering how much they know. Let us be compassionate when they are slow, remembering how far they have come. Let us love, remembering how much they first loved us. With Mother’s Day around the bend, let us value and love each of the old (and not so old) people in our lives who have filled our hearts with love.

A Very Bad Idea

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Just rockin’ the 90s with my little brothers Chris (left) & Brad (right)

Today I am going to tell you a true story. I have a little brother named Chris. I have five stupid brothers but Chris is my favorite (don’t tell the others). Chris and I have one of those questionable love/hate relationships. We almost never talk but when we finally do, we talk for hours. Earlier this week we were reminiscing about childhood and surviving childhood with said love/hate relationship. We laughed about the time Chris chased me and Brad across the yard with a machete–I think we could call this a hate moment.

a) Why did we own and freely play with a machete?

b) What could Brad and I possibly have done to invoke being hacked up in the front yard by a machete?

c) None of this is the true story I’m going to tell you (I mean, it is true, he really did chase us with a machete–but that’s for another day).

Don’t be deceived by how nice he looks

I grew up in the country on a farm with three big red barns. Up in the biggest barn the farthest from the house was a hayloft. The hayloft was the fortress and playground of my youth–my hideaway and favorite place in the world. One day right before I left for college, Chris and I decide it would just be the coolest thing in the world to sleep in the hayloft. And if we’re going to sleep in the hayloft well, dang it, we need entertainment. Thus began the plan to hook the TV up in the loft. No biggie, the barn is only like 20 yards miles from the house–we should have extension cords enough for that. Then was the part about actually hoisting the TV up into the loft–I believe this was done using a combination of ladders and my incredible upper arm strength. Regardless, we somehow got it up there with extension cords strung from the loft, through the puddles, up the hill, over the drive, through the yard, and into the house. Ah yes, but if you are going to sleep in the hayloft watching TV all night, well, you are going to need a good solid horror movie to make it worth your while. So, off to the movie store we go to make our selections. We returned home with a large pizza and the movie “Hide n’ Seek.” We built a proper nest on the floor and thus began the night of terror and stupidity.

“Hide n’ Seek” really isn’t that scary a movie…unless of course, you’re watching it in a barn out in a field in the middle of the night. You wouldn’t believe how timid a once machete-wielding kid can be until you lock him up in a barn with a horror movie–I’ve never seen Chris snuggle so close or act as though he liked me so much. We were both completely freaked out and kept talking about how maybe this wasn’t such a good idea and maybe we should go back to the house..huh huh, huh huh <8[

We were ready to pack up and run for it until we heard a scratching noise coming from the room under the loft. It was probably just a cat, but in that moment we were both fairly certain Freddie freakin’ Kruger was scratching his way through the floor boards intending to have us for dinner. You know that feeling of sheer terror that rises up in you sometimes and you’re just too scared to move or breathe? Ya, that was pretty much how we spent the whole night in the barn. We didn’t sleep a wink and as soon as the sun started to rise and there was just enough light to see the house again, we ran for it. If I remember right, we got to the front porch only to realize our Parents of the Year had locked us out so back to the loft we went.

It was one of the dumbest things we’ve ever done and one of the best memories we ever made.

Our current brilliant idea is to buy a pink van branded Kris and Kari’s Krazy Good BBQ out of which we will sell pulled pork to the masses. We are after all, from Kansas City (BBQ mecca) and Chris is the manager of a fantastic BBQ joint in KC, so we’re bound to be a success, right? Not to mention people in KC will eat BBQ any time of the day from any vendor imaginable–pink creepo van pulled up to the corner selling unidentifiable meat drenched in KC Masterpiece? Heck yes. The future is bright kids :]

All grown up–Brad center, Chris to his right, me to his left