Where Do I Start?

Well, pictures are always fun to look at, so let's start with them!

Let me introduce you to my brother, Ian, and his lovely bride, Jen.

Ian is here with our grandmother who I've blogged about her experience in a Nazi prison camp.

Me and my handsome family. We were all in the wedding party.

Jessica with her flower girl attire and hairdo.

This is me and my sister. Notice what I'm holding? Yes, it's a Cosmopolitan....about my 5th. I'm wearing Brendon's tie. No, my sister is not talking me out having just one more Cosmo. She handed that to me. I couldn't sip and dance at the same time. It got messy.

Do you notice what is sitting on the table in front of Brendon that he never touched? He's just sitting there for a rest. Jeff said, "Brendon. Dessert is served. Don't you want some?" Brendon's reply "No, I don't want any. I just want to dance."

We had the firemen on standby. Brendon was burning up the dance floor with his fancy footwork.



My sister asked if we taught him how to dance by shooting as his feet with a shot gun...."Dance boy DANCE." Pow pow....powpow.

Jessica told me Aunt Jen had Brendon's moves. I couldn't stop laughing after she told me that.

The weekend was filled with laughter and tears. Laughter because of the stories told about my brother by his best man and tears because we missed our dad and were worried about him.

The food was awesome and so was the company we kept at our table. My brother sat Jeff, the kids, and me with a few other couples who had kids because he thought we'd have "fun" talking about our wee little ones. My brother has soooo much to learn. Luckily though, even though we didn't know these people, they were fun to talk to. We moms had several rounds of Cosmopolitans after the guy sitting next to me told me it would be a good drink to order. He was right!!

I danced the night away and did a Lemon Drop shot with all of the female guests and laughed my ass off the whole night, not because I was drunk, but because everyone is so funny. It's nice to have family and friends with awesome senses of humors (that last part sounded weird...pluralized like that).

Diabetes never escapes the equation:

My brother introduced me to his hockey buddy from college who wanted to tell me he saw me on Dlife when they aired a clip of me and my family for a little episode. He revealed his pump that was clearly clipped to his belt and said how nice it was to see the episode. He DVR's the show every now and then and got a kick out of catching us on it.

I asked how long he's had T1 and he told me he was diagnosed when we was 27. I told him it must've sent his mind reeling that he's got a whole new body and way of thinking to handle, and he said his dad had T1, but that he passed away. His dad thought his son was in the clear since his education on diabetes took him as far as thinking that once you're an adult, you can't get "juvenile" diabetes.

It was nice talking to him. I wished I could've talked to him some more.

After the wedding, we all gathered back at the hotel where some of us "young uns" went up to the 6th floor club room after I had a Corona at the hotel bar. Mind you, this is after several rounds of Cosmos and a shot. In the club room, I had another shot of some wicked-chest-hair-growing-suitable-for-wound-cleansing-cuz-it-smelled-like-rubbing-alcohol Russian vodka brought back from Russia by another one of my brother's hockey buddies.

The next morning, at around 7 a.m. I woke with a migraine and the exquisite craving to puke my guts out.

So I did just that and I took a shitload of Advil and went back to bed.

At 11:45 a.m. I woke to the sound of a text message being sent to my phone saying my dad was off of the heart-lung machine and was OK.

I shlepped down to the dining area of the hotel where a post-wedding breakfast was set up. I ate the greasiest bacon, sausage and eggs I could get my grubby paws on and chased it with some sweet ass coffee. Perfect hangover breakfast.

Everyone else looked so showered and refreshed.

I, on the otherhand, looked like I used to look during my college mornings after a rockin' frat party.

So uncomely of a wife and mother of three.