Real Life v. Social Media Life

Think back to childhood without social media- what did our parents do during downtime? My mom would call her sister to discuss her day, during what little bit of downtime she had. They didn't share gossip unless it was something overheard at the salon my mom kept books for- or something my aunt might have heard or seen at the marina. {Which lets face it, between those two places- they had a plethora of topics to cover.}

What do parents today do? They scroll and read about others lives on social media. I am guilty of it too- other people are interesting- in a way that a zoo is interesting. It is entertaining to watch a human or a giraffe in it's own habitat, interacting with others...but does that make me want to be come a giraffe? Not so much...{I'm pretty tall as it is}

For the most part, we as social-medialites don't post our every move on facebook- only that we would like others to know about. Mostly the really highs and really lows get blasted for the world to share- the mediocre argument about who didn't fill the dogs water bowl up? Not so much. {totally me}

I often hear:

"So-and-so is so happy...just look at her pictures. Did you see the post about the present her boyfriend bought her? She's so lucky..."

Sure, so-and-so is probably very happy.

"I want that...why doesn't my husband do that," they say.

Every relationship is different and beautiful in its own way. I am truly blessed in my marriage. My husband helps tremendously- but things that he does for me aren't things that I post on social media- nor are they be things that would make someone think that I am blessed. Cleaning out a water trough? Dragging the horse pen? Telling my butt looks good? #superblessed

Jealousy is toxic and contagious. When you surround yourself with jealous people, inevitably you become jealous too- you start questioning your own lifestyle and wondering if you're really as happy as you think you are.

Guess what? Comparing your life to someone else's is like comparing apples to oranges. 

Seeing God's Plan

About a month ago, I did a photoshoot for precious family that attends our church. After the session, as we were chatting about the heat and humidity, the sweet church-member let me in on a little secret.

"On September 14th we are doing a dinner for the daycare- since it's the 25th anniversary. Your mom knows about the dinner- but she will be our guest of honor and that part we are keeping a secret. We want to do something really special to thank her for all she does," she told me.

I was overwhelmed with warmth. This woman isn't one of the founding members of the church/daycare- in fact, she hasn't been in our area permanently all that long. But she felt it in her heart to make sure that our church and community knew how hard my mom has worked to keep and grow the daycare to what it is today. How amazing. {I cried a little in the car on the way home. #truestory} 

As the weeks passed by, my mom told me she had asked this person and that person to stand and speak at the dinner...still not knowing the focus was on her. I decided to ask if I could join in and speak too- since my perspective was a little different from a parent of a child attending the center, a founding member of the mission or a social worker who had worked with the center frequently. I saw it all...the sweat, the tears, the stress...but mostly, the love and the sign that God showed our family this was my mother's true calling.

So I stood in front of a packed house & shared my memories:

My name is Eden Saunders- I'm Kathy's daughter. I was introduced to the daycare at the ripe old age of 7. 

Like many things in life- mom's work with the daycare began accidentally- or so we thought, it was definitely God's plan. Initially, we were searching for a church. The search for the perfect church is kind of like looking for the perfect house. You don't look for just a house- you look for a warm, comforting environment- something that you can turn into a home.

At that time, we had visited many churches. Most times leaving with my mom having a completed grocery list and me terrified because the preacher had yelled for an hour about hellfire and damnation. 

That all changed the day we walked into the little house across from the high school. I remember it clearly- the preacher wasn't dressed fancy- he was in a black short sleeved shirt with khaki pants. He was propped against the railing on the back porch smoking a cigarette. (Maybe I shouldn't share that part- but it's a memory.) He shook my hand and introduced himself as Mr. Tom. Not pastor- or Reverend...just Mister.  

We took our seats inside the home...and from the moment we walked through those doors- that is what it was....it wasn't a house, it wasn't a church, it wasn't just a building...it was a home- God's home.

I looked around the little room. There were toys on shelves lining the walls and not benches or pews like the other churches we had visited- only plastic folding chairs. During the service, I noticed my parents and I watching and actually listening as the preacher spoke- not making a grocery list or looking outside and thinking of plans for later in the day. 

While we knew this was going to be our church home from that first day, I don't think our family realized the plan God had in store for us the morning he sent us to the small home on Wingina. 

Not long after that Sunday- my mom began working at the church's mission daycare. At that time, it was only open during school months- and catered to teenage moms. These moms were encouraged to come visit or feed their babies during school breaks- they were welcomed into the center just as we were on that first Sunday. Monday through Friday- the building was a daycare center...and on Sundays it was a church. For years chairs and toys were rearranged to accommodate both the growing daycare center, as well as our growing church family.

As years went on, I watched my mom raise not just newborns, but their single-mothers (and some fathers) too. She took the time to ask them about their lives- not because she was nosey- but because she cared. She held them accountable for their actions- whether positive or negative. She was proud of them when they shared report cards with her- and reprimanded them when they skipped school. She was more than a childcare provider to these young parents- she was their family provider.

I could stand here and share stories for hours about how amazing my mom is- but she wouldn't want me to do that. I will say that I have watched her leave home early to pick up a child for daycare, knowing they wouldn't have a ride if she didn't bring them herself. I have seen her stay late in the evening- feeding a child an extra snack at 5:30, knowing that would be the last food in his or her belly before they returned the following day. I've seen her wash dirty children- go to the store and buy fresh formula for them because theirs was spoiled. I have heard our home phone ring in the middle of the night- a teen mom, whose water had broken with her second child- and the only person she trusted to care for her youngest child, was my mother. She didn't hesitate- my mom left immediately and picked up the youngest child and brought her to our home for the night.

This daycare center is so much more than just a daycare center. But then again...my mother, she is so much more than just a mother- or just a director. God's plan for her was to help this center become what is is today...not just a place for children but for families.

Thank you for taking the time tonight to honor this incredible mission...and my wonderful mother.

We hugged and cried. Then she cut the cake, which was decorated with flowers to match the garden and sign that is in front of the daycare- which honors both my mother and father.

"Don & Kathy's Garden...Roanoke Island Presbyterian Daycare"

Then we all cried again. ;-)

Horse Junkie

When I was little, I cared about one thing and one thing only: horses. {Not much has changed.}

I would eat, sleep and breathe horses. At the playground, my besties and I would canter around- pretending we were riding our steeds out in the wild west. I dreamed of one day having my own horse in our backyard.

I was like a junkie with a habit and my parents were total enablers- stopping me at every horse pen all across Dare County to snuggle and sniff real live horses. We befriended many horse-owners, as they'd grown accustomed to finding us in their yard. {We always asked permission. #consideratehorsejunkie}

After many visits to our friend's barn, who had become known as "GraMa" {because her grandchildren were close to my age and she had ponies, so naturally...she was my GraMa too} I began riding any spare horse or pony that was available. I was quiet and calm and was told I was a natural with the horses. I didn't know what that meant at the ripe old age of 6, but I felt pretty confident it meant I was in. #score

The summer before my seventh birthday, GraMa began telling my parents about this horse festival called Mule Days. Basically, it is Woodstock for horse people. You camp in a field with your horses for a weekend- you ride your horse (or buggy, if you will) everywhere you go, since the town is mostly shut down to vehicle traffic.

I stopped listening when she said "Eden would love it....horses.....*something something* riding....*something else* she can ride one of our horses and in the carriage"

"When is it?" my dad asked.

"The last weekend in September, every year!" she said.

Conveniently, the last weekend in September happens to fall right around my birthday. I remember the conversation so vividly.

"Daddy, I want to go to Mule Days for my birthday. I don't want a party or presents. I just want to go to Mule Days," I begged. {I remember this conversation so vividly because it happened about 9 million times before our departure}

From the twinkle in his eye, I figured he wanted to go as much as I did. Daddy loved horses and more than that- he loved seeing the joy it brought his little girl. #bestdaddyever We would ride on Sundays with GraMa and her girls and grandkids in preparation for our big adventure.

"Alright, Don...when are you getting Eden a horse," she would ask.

"If she saves her money and can buy a saddle at Mule Days, then I'll know she is serious about wanting a horse," he said.

I was on it. I put every nickle and dime into a blue velvet bag I had stashed away as a barbie-shoe holder. By the time we were packing up for Mule Days, my little bag seemed to weigh more than I did. I was sure I would have enough money for some kind of saddle. {Real dollar amount, I had about $85}

I remember pulling into town in our old grain truck- Mom, Daddy & I all crammed onto the bench seat together. The back of the truck was filled with hay and we were towing the lowboy with two carriages on the back. {#oldschoolgypsy}

"Look, a horse!! Another one!! There's two!!" I shouted.

"Calm down, bud!" Daddy said, half laughing, half aggravated with maneuvering a giant trailer through herds of folks on horses.

After settling in to what I thought was absolute heaven, we walked down to the tack vendors to start searching for the perfect saddle for the perfect amount of money. I met an older cowboy with a long-twisty mustache with nicotine stains around his nostrils. He looked gruff but approached me and my little blue bag of change.

"Can I help you find something, miss?" he asked.

"Um, well...I am here to buy a saddle. I don't have a horse yet. But my daddy promised me if I saved all my money this summer and if I bought a saddle- he would get me a horse," I explained.

I handed him the bag. As he peeked into the bag, he knelt down to be level with my eyes.

"You pick out whatever saddle you want, baby. I will throw in all the fixings," he said.

I wasn't even sure what that meant. But I left there with a beautiful black leather saddle with silver conchos, a new pad, girth, and bridle to match.

The next year, Daddy and I rode up to the same vendor on our horse, Sham, that I had gotten for Christmas a few months after my saddle purchase. I was so proud to show him all of the tack on my very own horse. {The story of how Sham arrived on Christmas morning is a post in itself.}

It takes a village to raise a true cowgirl.

3 Months of Learning

3 months.

I have learned more than I expected about myself in the last three months since losing my daddy. I always took pride in being strong...being tough...being able to handle more than anyone ever expected me to. I have lost family members in the past. I have made the decision to say goodbye to dogs and horses that I worked tireless hours to take care of- stood by them as they took their last breath and fell to the ground. I stood in the pasture and watched as my equine friend was buried. 

I don't know how you stood there and watched...you're tougher than me, I was told many times.

I didn't understand that statement. The hard part was knowing the loss was coming and seeing someone special to me in pain. Watching their pain hurt me worse than the loss of their presence.

When we lost daddy, I learned that I am absolutely not as tough as I thought.

My emotions on a daily basis can vary so widely that I feel like I'm completely losing my mind at least 60% of the time. On the days that I wake up okay, thinking 'okay, I got this...today is going to be okay' I break down before I've even had my coffee. On days that I wake up sad, I end up holding it together. It makes absolutely no sense. Being a control freak, you can imagine how much this drives me up a wall.

I have never ever been a person who likes to be sad. I don't dwell on things. I don't wallow in misery like a pig in slop- in fact, that is one of my biggest pet peeves. There is always a silver lining...find it! But where is the silver lining here?

I'm learning that I haven't ever really mourned, until now. I also learned that there comes a point in mourning where you feel so broken that nothing else can tear you down. {A month after Daddy passed away, our beloved chihuahua passed away suddenly. I couldn't cry. The tears just weren't there.}

I still fight with feeling jealous of strangers who have their fathers. Jealousy...another emotion I'm not fond of, nor familiar with. Will that feeling fade?

In these last three months, I have learned many things- most that lead to more questions about myself. Learning how to mourn will be a daily lesson, as it is for many. We just have to take it one day at a time.

Seriously, America...

Funny thing about criminals- they aren't born criminals, they become criminals after they commit a crime.

Recently, Santa Clara County Superior Court Judge Aaron Persky said that age and lack of criminal history of Brock Turner, the Stanford student who was convicted of three felonies for sexually assaulting an unconscious woman, played a factor in him sentencing Turner to six months in jail.

Six months. 180 days. Roughly one academic year.

"A prison sentence would have a severe impact on him," Persky said. "I think he will not be a danger to others."

Stop right there. It would have a severe impact on him, the rapist? Yes, as well it should- he raped an unconscious woman. His punishment should have as close to an impact on him as his actions did on her. A six month prison sentence? #isthistimeout?

We start teaching our kids at an early age that they have to be held accountable for their actions. If you are rude, you lose a privilege. If you lie, you are grounded. How do teach your kids that doing wrong is wrong when we have a Superior Court Judge saying "Lets not punish him...lets give him a second chance to rape someone- if he does it again- then we will punish him." Where is the motivation to make the right decision if there are no consequences for the wrong ones?

Don't get me started on the FBI and Hillary. #icanteven

Then the shooting in Orlando. Omar Mateen, who had been investigated in 2013 and 2014 by the FBI for suspicions of terrorist activity, legally purchased the handgun and assault rifle he used in to kill over 40 people in a gay nightclub a few days before the massacre.

Stop again. Let that sink in. Someone who was investigated by the FBI more than once had no trouble purchasing an assault rifle. And the folks who sold him the assault

I am all for the right to bear arms. However, if you've been investigated even once for terrorist activity, terrorist connections or even googling jihad- you absolutely should not be able to purchase an assault rifle. In fact, I think there are few circumstances where an assault rifle would be deemed necessary. If you are a gun enthusiast, you should be a sharp enough shot to not need to fire 180 rounds of ammunition per minute to take care of business. #unlessitsazombieapocalypse #thisargumentpissesmyhusbandoff #wecantdiscusspolitics #illendupinthedoghouseoverthis #loveyouboo

Our society is quick to blame religion, laws or race for the actions of one human being. I would like to blame the California Judge for not giving a stricter sentence to a rapist- but ultimately, the rapist is the one to blame. I would like to blame the person who didn't think Mateen should be kept under some sort of surveillance- but it's not that person's fault or the gun's fault- it's Omar Mateen's.

Our country is a scary place to me right now. Our Presidential candidates are in a political pissing match- spending more time trash talking than speaking actual plans. One has absolutely no filter and shouts the most extreme plan possible to get attention- the other points and says "Did you hear him?! He's irrational! Don't listen to him about my past." Our amazing country has turned into a bit of a shitshow...and our ringleaders are nothing short of circus freaks. 

Dream Date

Monday morning, coffee in hand on a seemingly gloomy, overcast morning, I walked from my car into my office. Just before placing my hand on the door, it hit me.

Two weeks ago today, this moment, I heard "I love you, bud" for the last time. 

I told myself to get it together. You say all the time to not dwell on sadness, listen to yourself.

My day moved on like any Monday. I blinked and the day was over and I was laying in my bed with my husband. The room was quiet, except for the thoughts that were knocking around in my head.

"I miss him," I said, telling my husband about my realization earlier in the day of the two-week marker.

"I know you do," he said, hugging me tighter.

We drifted off to sleep. 

My dreams have been vivid and colorful the last few weeks- but they haven't made any sense at all...until last night.

I was walking Little Miss into school, hand in hand, Mom by our side. As we opened the door, there he was- my daddy. He looked like he did when he would walk me into school when I was Little Miss's age- big broad shoulders, red beard, huge smile. He took my hand and squeezed it three times. {i love you}

"I love you, bud!" he said, smiling into my eyes.

"I love you, too!!" I said, as we walked on.

I woke up for the first time in weeks with a happy heart. He knew just what my heart needed to hear- and I'm so thankful!

Our Last Ride

"Go home and be with your family...enjoy your time with them," Daddy's doctor told him.

So that is what we did. 11 days after we were told the initial news about the cancer, we brought Daddy home.

Time stood still that Thursday evening. We soaked up each moment with each other. We overused I love you because we meant it, every time. We stared at each other. We hugged. We cried. We ate a lot...of any kind of food he wanted. We held each other tight. 

"Do you know what means the most in this world to me?" he asked me, as I was walking out of his bedroom.

"What, Daddy?"

"You," he said pointing at me.

I fought back the tears as I walked back over to hug him one more time. As I walked towards him, my mind traveled to when I was little- he would back into the driveway and I would run up to his dumptruck for a hug.

"You know what means the most to me?" I asked him, as he wiped my tears.

Neither of us could speak. We didn't have to. 

Friday night was restless. His breathing was progressively getting weaker and weaker. His pain levels were untouched by the pain medication- but he was still fighting to be himself.

"I want to take a shower...and then I want to go for a ride," he said.

My determination kicked into high gear. It was the first thing he had said he wanted to do, besides eat, since we got home. Come hell or high water we were going for a ride.

A friend was washing his truck- and all I could think about was how Daddy was going to rip me a new one, cancer or not, if that truck got scratched during the washing. I was as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof.

"Looks good, where are my keys?" he asked me, as we walked towards his truck.

My heart sunk. I knew I couldn't let him drive with all the medication he was on...but the thought of disappointing him tied my stomach into knots.

"I ain't stupid...I want to sit in my seat...start my truck," he said.

I passed him the keys. He sat down and started his truck. He laid his head back and closed his eyes as the motor purred and the radio played a song that fit way to well. {I Drive Your Truck, Lee Brice}

The moment flew by. He got up and moved to the passenger seat.

"Let's go somewhere, Bud," he said to me.

I was honored. No one has ever driven that truck but him. No one.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Doesn't matter...your house," he replied.

As we drove, just the two of us, I noticed he was drifting in and out of sleep. I held his hand tight and enjoyed our daddy-daughter time. I thought of all the times he would take me to ride- we would ride by every house that had horses in Dare County until we found someone who would let me pet them. Then, when we got our horse- we spent Sundays, just me and him, on our horse together. 

As we drove by Midway, his eyes popped open.

"You missed it- turn around," he snapped.

"What?" I asked.

"Midway...I want to see James. Turn around," he said.

James has been a friend of our family for as long as I can remember. When Daddy taught me how to change my oil, he told me the only other person who was allowed to touch my car was James Cahoon. 

"Daddy, I don't think James is there now...but we can go find him," I said.

"Let's go see your horses," he said, drifting back to sleep.

We pulled up to the front of my house and the horses were out front. 

"Hey Tristan!" Daddy hollered.

Tristan knickered back to him, the biggest, proudest knicker I have ever heard.

"Go feed him, I'll watch you from here," he told me.

In the moment, as special as it felt then, I never imagined how close I would hold that truck ride in my heart.

When we got back home, he slept for 5 hours. As I peeped into his bedroom, he motioned for me to come lay with him.

"I'm sorry I have to leave you soon," he said, staring into my eyes.

"It's going to be okay, Daddy. We will take care of Mom...it's going to be okay," I said.

"I know you will...I know."

"Will you promise me something?" I asked, squeezing his hand.

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

"Promise me you'll visit me...us...in our dreams?"

He smiled.

"I promise. That sounds like fun," he said, and he drifted back to sleep.

Monday morning at 6:55am my mom called. Daddy had a really bad night. 

"He wants to go on a truck ride- he said something about James," she said.

I called James and he was on the way over immediately.

I dropped Little Miss off at school and went straight to my parents. James was sitting with Daddy, telling stories about wrecks they'd hauled together and races they'd attended.

Daddy's voice was weak. I hugged and kissed him.

"Do you want me to stay?" I asked.

"I'm okay, go on to work," he told me. 

So I did. He didn't ever want for me to see him in pain and I could see how much he was hurting.

"I love you, Daddy...don't forget about our dream-dates," I said.

Just a few short hours later, Mom called me at work to tell me to come back.

"This is it...hurry."

Those words rang in my head as I sat frozen at my desk. My body started shaking. I grabbed my purse and wondered how I would get the words out of my mouth to tell my boss where I was going.

I don't remember what I said or the drive to my parent's house. I walked into the front door and could see through the back door to the porch. My daddy was sitting down with his head resting on my mom's chest. The stress-lines on his forehead were relaxed- his body was no longer tense. He was gone. 

A wave of calmness washed over me as I kissed his forehead. I could feel his spirit holding me tight. 

As difficult as the last few days were, I wouldn't trade them for anything in the world. We got to say goodbye- so many people never get that moment. I will cherish those last few days and I know I will see him again.

I'll see you in my dreams, Daddy.

The Post I Never Thought I'd Write

Something happened.

In the blink of an eye, I was partially transformed into a little girl again- but part of me remained a grown woman. Part of me was standing in a hospital room, hearing a stranger doctor tell me that they found spots on my daddy's liver and a mass in his pancreas that was cancerous- but the rest of me was 7 years old, pulling on Daddy's arm to climb onto the back of my horse. Part of me was holding his hand, trying to be strong...and the rest of me was crumbling.

The moment the words came out of the stranger's doctor's mouth- everything changed. Our entire world changed. I wanted to tell stories- and ask to hear everything he's ever told me over again. I wanted to make new memories without thinking this might be the last time we get to do this. I wanted to study my daddy's face and memorize every tiny wrinkle- and remember where it came from...this one from the sun on his face when he used to plow fields when he was a farmer, long before I was even thought of- this one from the sunburn he got when we stayed in the ocean all day, laughing and swimming together...the color of his red beard...and how it never matched the hair on his head- the way his hands always looked when I was little- stained with grease from the tractor or oil from the dump truck.

My body went numb. I couldn't show my heartbreak. I had to show strength. I had to show that I had faith that he was going to be okay. I tried to shut out the doctors words but they echoed over and over again as memories flashed through my mind like a slideshow of happier times.

Immediately I wanted to know why. I wanted to know why God chose us- why our family. I wanted to know why there isn't a cure- with all the technology and knowledge in the world. Our government can hack into a terrorist's locked iPhone but can't find even a hint of a cure for cancer. I was Sally Field in Steel Magnolias, yelling in the graveyard as she buried her daughter. My numbness was replaced with anger. I wouldn't accept this diagnosis. It has to be a nightmare. I just want to wake up, I thought over and over. I got angry when people asked me how I was doing or how I was handling the diagnosis in the first few hours and days of finding out. How am I?! How ridiculous- my health is fine, my heart is broken and a huge part of me wants to rip your face off. No, I'm not fine.

Pray about it...God will get you through this.

The first few days of trying to process that my daddy has cancer- hearing that God would help me made me angry too. When I get upset with someone, I have to take some time to myself before I can talk it out. God's plan had really upset me. I didn't understand, and still don't, why he chose this plan for our family. I couldn't pray. I tried to talk to him but I couldn't find the words. We just simply weren't on speaking terms. I knew He was there- I knew He probably understood my silence- but I wasn't ready to talk.

They transferred my daddy to a larger hospital in Virginia due to a blood clot in his heart. {Because cancer wasn't enough to worry about.} Sometime in the first few days of him settling in at the new hospital, mom and I both realized that we were mourning something that hadn't happened yet. The anger began to fade a little- and we were able to focus on the moments we were in with Daddy.

So...what's next? God and I are talking again...and I'm hoping his plan for my daddy has an extended edition. For now, we are thankful for each day we are given. We are praying for the doctors caring for my dad, that they may be blessed with the knowledge they need to treat him. We are praying for ourselves, that we have the strength to be helpful through this process- and to not get too ahead of ourselves and be able to focus on the day we are in and not so much on the future. We are praying that we are able to keep our faith strong- it is so easy to lose faith when faced with tough journeys, such as this one.

Thank you to those of you who have held me as I cried, listened to me as I was angry, and prayed for our family. Words can't describe our gratefulness.

Say 'I love you'

We live in a small, tight-knit community and I've said before, when one of us goes through something, we all do.

Recently, two special people were battling cancer. They were both diagnosed around the same time- and both ended their battle this week, but in two very different ways. One rang the bell, ending her last radiation treatment...and one went home to be with the Lord.

Our horse community lost a very special cowgirl last week, as well. With social media, news travels fast and kind words and photos get posted almost instantly for the world to see. Upon reading the many testimonies about how much this cowgirl meant to so many people, I wondered...did she realize she was this loved? I hope so. She was the kind of person who told you when she loved you- partly, I believe, because she knew tragedy all too well. She lost two children in a tragic accident 11 years ago. She knew that life was fragile. 

When tragic events strike close to home, it reminds us to tell each other how we feel. We say I love you. We make time for each other. We put other's needs in front of our own...but unfortunately, as quickly as we are reminded, life gets in the way and we forget.

I may tap-dance on the borderline of over-using I love you because it is my personal belief that you can't overuse I love you if you mean it every time you say it. Life is too short to not say it when you feel it. Life is too short to not make time for our loved ones. Life is too short to not stop and have that conversation in the grocery store with someone you don't see that often- because who is to say that it may not be the last time you have a conversation with that person?

Say I love you. Thank your friends for being good to you. Remind your loved ones that you're grateful they were put in your life. Life is a fragile gift that we all-to-often take for granted.

We Got Your Back, Shack!

I remember hearing the words for the first time and not knowing whether to scream or cry.

Ginger has Hodgkin's Lymphoma.

In that moment, that first few seconds of hearing the news- I knew if I couldn't take it away from her...heal her, fix her...then I had to do something to help- something to take her mind off of the scary and onto the happy.

I messaged my cowgirl sister and Dignified Cowgirls partner immediately.

"OMG Our Ginger?! Yes, let's make shirts, do a ride, whatever we can," Danielle replied.

Within two weeks, our shirt design was complete and we had the ball rolling for a fun show or trail ride, or both. It wasn't a question of how we were going to do it- it wasn't a question at all, we were doing it.

That's the thing about cowgirls. There is nothing we can't do. We can manhandle 1200lb animals, move 500lb round bales, mend fences and haul trailers. We can fight with the best of them. When told we can't, we will prove we can. We don't ask for help often- but always know when it needs to be given. 

As the weeks progressed, we found out how incredible our little island really is as we planned the We Got Your Back, Shack! fun show. There was no "We can't donate this time..." it was always "Whatever you need...just tell us what you need and we will get it for you. This family is too special to not be 100% behind them through this."

We had everything from silent auction items to cash donations. Sponsors were coming out of the woodwork to help us- but it had nothing to do with us and everything to do with the Shackelfords. When I think of the kind of family God would look down and say "They get it...they're doing my work everyday, they look out for others, they're kind and genuine..." I think of the Shackelfords. {My husband and I say all the time that there are two people in this world that you can talk to and feel like you just spoke to Jesus himself- Omie Tillet and Britton Shackelford.}

Friday afternoon we got the keys to the indoor arena and began setting up. In the quiet dark arena, moments flashed through my mind. 

 -The first time I met Ginger- Christmas morning, when she got her first horse. 

 -Bareback horse rides around Wanchese with her, laughing and telling stories about her future career as a professional barrel racer. 

 -Doing her senior pictures- and making her smile her smile while she controlled her horses who weren't so sure about the waves in the sound. 

 -Hearing her stories from the NBHA Youth World trips...because she took a young cowgirl's dream and made it a reality. 

"Tomorrow is going to be a wonderful day. I want Ginger to have so much fun that she looks back on the day & forgets that she had Hodgkin's Lymphoma..."

The morning of the show began early. Donned in our pink Dignified Cowgirls hoodies and our sparkley zebra boots- Danielle and I were like kids on Christmas morning! As the trailers started rolling in and registrations began getting filled out- one thing was for certain...our dreams of it being a great day were going to come true. Cowboys and cowgirls were in attendance from all over North Carolina and Virginia. My heart was already overwhelmed- then in walked our cowgirl...smiling from ear to ear.

"Booey!!"

If you've ever seen a genuine Ginger smile, you know it is contagious. It is the kind of smile you see with your eyes and feel instantly in your heart. It's impossible to be in a bad mood around that kind of smile. That smile is what we worked for- that made all the work we put into the show worth it. 

Throughout the day we laughed and smiled so much my face was sore. We had some tearful {squeaky} moments- but they weren't tears of sadness...they were proud tears. They were WE will beat this tears- because we were all in agreeance that our cowgirl isn't fighting this battle alone.

We have all been thanked over and over for putting together this show. The best thank you came to us from Ginger's family...they thanked us for everything- but mostly for restoring Ginger's smile and glow. I want to thank our community, our sponsors, every single person who attended on Saturday- with your help...our community raised over to $5000 for Ginger!! And in MORE good news- Ginger had her last chemo treatment yesterday!! We are so proud of you, Booey...round that barrel, sit back & bring it on home, baby!!

A Horse of a Different Color

I received the following anonymous letter in the mail earlier today:

To a fellow horse lover: 

I am on your road alot and have noticed your two beautiful horses for quite awhile. 

Now I am saddened by the condition I see them in due to the rain of the last few months. Your white horse is hardly white any more. It is so unhealthy for them to stay in such conditions. It does create problems for their feet and their general state of mind.

A fellow horse lover

Since said horse lover did not leave a return address, phone number or sign the letter that they felt the need to pay for postage on, I was unable to send them my response. So, here's hoping someone will pass along this little bit of information to them.

Dearest "Fellow Horse Lover":

While I see you are a lover of horses, and I appreciate that, I really do, it appears you have loved them from afar and never owned one of your own. I say that because, had you owned your own or possibly had any common sense at all, you would know that horses roll for a few reasons. Allow me to enlighten you:

1. For pleasure. Now, I know...your eyeballs just fell right out of your head. How dare these majestically animals find pleasure in rolling in the *gasp* mud. It's true. They enjoy it.
2. For self-maintenance or grooming. Since you have loved from afar, you may not be familiar that horses have hooves not hands, therefore, grooming themselves tends to be difficult. Hence the rolling, particularly in pre-spring months when their many layers of insulation (ie: fur) begins to shed. {Sidenote: if you see my two horses 'biting' each other. Don't call equine social services. Neither is in an abusive relationship. They're simply scratching each other because they are itchy.)
3. To rest. You know when you've stood on your feet all day? All 150+lbs of you? Well my horses are roughly 1200lbs each. While they stand 90% of the time, they do tend to give all four hooves a break and sprawl out on the ground from time to time just to rest their legs. {I know, I should replace the front part of our pen with a Serta Beautyrest. Believe me, if I could...totally would.}
4. To relieve pain or discomfort. Laying down/rolling is a tell-tale sign if a horse is colicing (equine for super-sick). This is one of the few times you will see a cowgirl cry. I can't even be light-hearted here because colic is no laughing matter. I take it beyond serious when one of my horses lays down for a longer-than-normal-for-him amount of time. 

So, now that we are on the same page with why horses roll, allow me to explain why said horses remain dirty after they roll in the winter time.

While I brush my horses daily, the luster and shininess does not reappear in their coats until 1) they lose their winter fuzz, or 2) they get bathed. Since the temperatures in our area have not been consistently above 50-60 degrees in several months, it would literally be cruel to bathe them. Horses, as I mentioned, have several layers of fur, which, as you can imagine, does not dry quickly. When horses are wet, they roll to aid in the drying process. {Do you see the vicious cycle here?}

This leads me to my next point. 

A few weeks ago, our Pastor spoke about a story of a man, his boy and their donkey. The man and his son were leading the donkey into town to go to the market. They passed some townspeople and they laughed and pointed, calling them fools for not riding the donkey.

The man put his son on the donkey and carried on. Then they passed a few more people.

"Look at that lazy boy, making his father walk by the donkey," they said.

So the man got on the donkey, with his son. A few moments later, they passed more townsfolk.

"That poor donkey, you should be ashamed overloading him with the weight of two people!" they said.

So the man and the boy dismounted and decided it best to carry the donkey into town.

My point? Someone will always have a comment, a way they would do it better, a solution to a problem you didn't even know you had. It's up to you how you take it.

I'll admit, when I read your anonymous letter, my blood pressure was for sure at stroke level. I was so angry that someone dare think I would mistreat my animals, and then be so spineless to not own their statement. {I have a metal spine...and it is oh.so.fitting.} While the ignorance on the subject you spoke on is your problem, my reaction is all on me. So, I'm going to choose to hug my dirty babies and have a fantastic evening. My wish for you, the next time you pass my majestically-dirty horses, is that you choose to look in the direction of the boat yard and keep on keeping on. 

Yours Truly,

A Legal Ass...& A Dignified Cowgirl ;-)

(AKA: Eden Hope Saunders)

Attack Goat

Several weeks ago, my cousin asked if I would watch after her horses while she was out of town. No problem.

"The goat eats with one of the horses and the water is by the chickens," she instructed.

*squeal* Chickens! I thought.

I instantly started plotting on how to become besties with my future feathered-friends. I have wanted chickens for a good 3 years- and Santa has totally failed on adding them to my menagerie of animals. 

Day 1. Horses totally ignored me. Chickens hid. Goat was sweet and lovable.

I emailed my cousin that evening asking the goat's name. I felt insensitive just calling him goat. 

"LOL...his name is Christmas," she replied.

I wondered why she LOL'd...maybe it was because I had just told her he used my butt as a scratching post.

Day 3. Fed horses after work. Chickens hid. Goat used me as a scratching post. It was warm and I decided against blanketing the horses until later in the evening.

Huge fail. Horse 1, agreed to blanketing. Horse 2, gave me a middle hoof and took off. I attempted to follow, but somewhere in between hour 1 and 2, I lost a boot in the mud and had a minor tourette's meltdown. {Unless it's a spa treatment, I do not want mud in between my toes.} Christmas, lovingly nicknamed The Asshole decided we were playing a fun little game and his part in the fun little game? Butting me directly in the stomach anytime I got near Horse 2. #notfunnychristmas

Day 5. Finally blanketed Horse 2. #hugevictory Threw feed at The Asshole so he would leave me alone so I could look for the chickens which were no where to be found. 

Day 7-10. CHICKENS!! I squealed as I greeted them and they promptly darted away from me like I was wearing a KFC shirt. #dangit I continued to ignore the goat as much as possible. Horse 1 now recognizes my car and greets me with nickers and sweetness.

Day 11. Horses are in the barn waiting for food. The Asshole, I presume, is with them. Chickens are in the pen clucking around and I.am.thrilled. They didn't run. Today is the day, my little friends!!

I went in the feed room and got the horses fed and took a handful of feed out to attempt to feed one of the chicken's that had followed me to the door. I knelt down in my work clothes and hot pink muck boots {fashion statement, I know} and the chicken began to eat out of my hand. I was hoping that Little Miss was watching from the car because I was beyond excited to have FINALLY made friends with one of five chickens. Chicken ate patiently, turning her head from side to side, as I grinned from ear to ear. 

That's when it happened.

The Asshole came out of nowhere and butted me in the neck, knocking me completely off my feet. I somehow managed to still hold onto the little bit of feed that was in my hand as I laid sprawled out in the mud. {Chicken appreciated this gesture, as she continued to eat out of my hand as the goat butted the Christ right out of my Mas.}

Now, just take a moment and try to picture this. Hot pink boots, legs and arms flailing. Obscenities flying. Goat butting me. Chicken? Calmly still eating out of my hand. 

I get up and wipe the mud and blood off my face {because when The Asshole hit my nose it started bleeding like a faucet} to the best of my ability. I get back in the car and what does Little Miss say?

"How were the horses? Did you see Christmas?!" Little Miss asked.

"We do not speak of the goat."

"Mama, you kinda smell," she replied.

Thanks, honey. I appreciate your concern.

Dear Big Gully

Dear Big Gully,

The beginning of February has a new meaning now. Last year, we were preparing for your next journey- your trip home- to see Karen again, to see your mother and father, your many Wigeons...those special souls who left here before you. 

You were ready, we know that. Although, on the first night Mom and Angie were with you on the mountain- you boldly told the angel that visited you in your sleep to slow down, not just yet. We know that by the end of the week, you were prepared. Your body was tired and ready to be renewed. While we weren't ready to let you go, we all agreed (and still do) that it brings us peace in knowing that your healthy again, telling stories and watching over us.

This morning in church, our pianist played Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. As he began playing, my eyes filled with tears and my heart with sadness. Plain and simple- I just miss you. I miss your laugh and your voice. I miss hearing you call us all Sissy. I just miss you. The song continued and the tears stopped as the beat picked up speed, and I could feel your presence. I could almost hear your voice. The sadness faded.

"Don't cry, shug."

In the year that you've been gone, I feel like so many wonderful memories have been made that we haven't been able to share with you. Our engagement and wedding- moving into our new home with our horses in our yard. I have these selfish moments, moments I just want to share with you, talk with you, and wish you were here instead of heaven. But when I look around...there you are, everywhere. In the rainbow that shined in the sky the March afternoon of the day we got engaged...in the blue sky that showed on our rainy wedding day, in the buck that hangs on our wall- that I decorated for Christmas, because I knew you would've done the same if you were here. {red tacky bow and all}

So, I know you're with us- and you aren't missing a thing. But today, on the anniversary of your journey- I just needed to cry and talk to you and think about all the memories from years before. The memories, that I look back on now and realize those moments molded and shaped me into who I am now. Watching you care for Karen for years- a love that is rarely seen in real life, mostly just seen in Nicholas Sparks novels. That love was just who you were. You didn't love someone a little- you loved them with everything you had. I am so thankful for that. I am thankful to have been a part of your wonderful life story...and I'm thankful that you were such a big part of mine.

I love you,

Little Sissy

Negative Nines

Terrible Twos? Allow me to introduce you to the older, louder, more dramatic and demanding sister- Negative Nines.

I have, more than once, looked back on the memories of Little Miss and the Terrible Twos and thought 'Eh? Was it really that bad?' I mean, it was kind of like having a rare exotic animal in the house that may pee or throw something at you at any moment, but as far as legit arguing? Not so much.

But now? At 9? Homegirl can hold onto anger and draw out an argument like she is trying to win a match in a boxing ring. #goingforthegold But somehow, in the end...we both lose. I feel like a bad mom because I'm constantly correcting my child, who in turn, argues with every mother-loving word I say...and she? She feels like she can't do anything to suit me.

#passthewine

Afternoons start with the homework argument. I'm pretty sure our neighbors think we have a rabid honey-badger in the house at least half the time.

"Let's get your homework done, honey," I begin.

"I hate homework. I hate school...WHY ARE YOU PUNISHING ME!?!" she screams as she goes limp in her chair at the kitchen table.

"I don't hate you...you have to do homework so you'll grow up to be smart!" I say.

"I can't do it! Help me...I'm hungry. I don't know how to do this. IT IS IMPOSSIBLE. Ughhh!!"

I take a deep breath. I count to ten. Then twenty.

"Yes you can, just try..." I'm interrupted. {I hate being interrupted}

"School is stupid. Ugh," she says, rolling her eyes.

I walk away- deciding she has roughly 16 hours before she has to return to school with her homework complete. She should be able to figure it out in that amount of time, especially since I know she's just trying to push every button possible.

#jesustakethewheel

Then we have the dinner argument...I love food, all food, any kind of food. Little Miss eats about 5 things. She will go down with the ship if asked to eat something she doesn't like. I was at my whits end a few years ago and asked her pediatrician what to do.

"Don't make her something special- she has to learn to try things," she told me.

I tried it. She went to bed hungry. The next night? The previous hungry-evening didn't phase her, she pushed her plate away and said "I am not eating that. It doesn't smell like I will like it."

Seriously, she was ready to chain herself to the table in protest of my chicken chili. #tastebudrebel

Her determination is commendable. I just wish it was for like...world peace or cleaning her room.

Is there some kind of mommy group out there for parents of hormonal {god, we are already there, aren't we?} nine-agers?! If so, someone sign me up...because I know I'm not the only mom who takes a sip of wine some nights and thinks "Oh my god, my child, that I willingly brought into this world, is going to be the cause of my alcoholism!" #iaskedforthis

Life is a Lottery

The main topic of conversation just about everywhere in the country is the lottery. Have you bought a ticket? How did you pick your numbers? What will you do with your winnings? Can you believe how high the payout is? You name it, the questions are flying.

I'm guilty too. It's fun to dream about what one would do with that kind of cash. {Buy a Ranch.} Last night, while discussing our imaginary ranch- where the living room would open up into the aisle way of our 30 stall barn- we quickly moved from what we would buy to what we would give.

To our church. To our family. To our close friends. Even to our bosses. {job security}

Tonight, as I packed Little Miss's suitcase for a trip with her father, I heard about a fatal accident in a neighboring county. My heart sunk for the family involved. (This news made me snuggle Little Miss extra tight, as she wiggled away, not understanding my tears.) I thought about another friend who has an ill parent...several friends who are battling cancer...and how the lottery is the last thing on any of their minds. While money is as great bonus- it certainly can't buy happiness or healthiness.

When you look up the definition of the word lottery, the secondary definition states it is a process or thing whose success or outcome is governed by chance. Life is a lottery. Each day is a blessing, one that can be taken away in the blink of an eye. By chance, we wake up each day. By the grace of God we are able to get up, get dressed and go to work for the day...to come home, most of the time exhausted, to our loved ones. 

Life is the lottery we need to pay attention to and be truly grateful for. So tonight, as we all clinch our winning Powerball tickets- take a moment to be thankful for what you already have, because the things that money can't buy are what are the most valuable.

Male Brain vs. Female Brain

I truly believe the male and female brains operate very differently. Whoever wrote Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus was definitely on to something.

I'm one of those rare humans who is almost never in a bad mood. It's just a waste of time- why dwell on a bad day? Who are you punishing? Yourself...that's who. So...when someone is grumpy I do my best to make them smile, laugh, relax, see the positive, etc. I'm an aggravating little ray of sunshine that will blind your gloomy day...seriously, ask my husband. When that doesn't work, especially with my husband, my brain instantly assumes that it's me. I've done something to upset him...otherwise why wouldn't my sunshine be accepted and enjoyable? #thenerve #whodoesntlovesunshine

"Are you mad at me, boo?"

"No, I'm just tired."

For about 35 seconds, I believe him. Then I decide that he's totally lying.

"Are you sure? Because if you were just tired- you wouldn't be in a bad mood...you would just be...still," I argue, you know, because it's what I do.

"Yes, honey...I'm just tired and enjoying the quiet," he looks at me like he was enjoying the quiet until junior prosecutor shined the blinding ray of sunshine in his eyes.

"Okay..." I say, still not believing him because even when I'm tired I'm not quiet. {Hell, I don't even sleep quietly #idoeverythingloud}

After about 15 minutes of quiet, I'm sure that he has noticed I'm pouting...but what is he doing? He is simply enjoying the quiet because he is tired from spending the previous three days building stalls for our horses. {for me} But in my erratic and irrational state {not bad mood, to be clear} I can't see that. I can only see that he is being quiet because he is clearly unhappy in life and may have stopped loving me all together.

{I might should mention that during this particular study...I was on my period. #auntfloisabitch}

A few days later, once my mind was clear and I had stopped eating fried everything with a side of hershey kisses, I laid my findings all out on the table.

"So...what your telling me is that when you are tired or in a bad mood- you just want to be left alone?" I asked, in an obvious this is ridiculous tone.

"Yes!! Exactly! And it's not because you did anything or because it's your fault...but when you ask me 8 million times, it quickly begins to be your fault," he replies.

See? Male Brain vs. Female Brain.

"I did not ask 8 million times....I asked 3 times...5 tops," I said, smiling and knowing it was about 7 times.

Not at all Politically Correct

{Not exactly G rated}

I have always avoided talking about money, religion or politics with friends and family. Those three topics will guarantee a heated debate and those that know me know I can argue with a wall- and that just generally pisses people off. I am opinionated and can be outspoken, so certain topics I shy away from.

With that said, in this particular post I'm not shying away from anything. After watching the last few Presidential debates (both elephant and donkey) I can't get past who our front-runners are. I know other people have to have kicked back and said "So...on the one side we have the reality TV guy...and on the other side we have the wife of a former President who got a blowy in the Oval."

{I know, all 5 of you that read my blog probably just unfriended me on Facebook.}

I'm not the only one who is thinking this, am I? Yes, I know that both candidates have done more than just what is mentioned above. But to me- those are the first things that come to mind. {pun accidentally intended} We will either end up with a man who fires everyone, or a woman who can't even stand up to her own husband. (But she'll stand beside him, apparently.) It makes me wonder how other countries will view us. Granted, in recent years I think they have kind of looked at us like we are a nation in a bad relationship...but we are still a respected nation, and rightly so.

News feeds were clogged with clips of The Donald speaking out on shutting down our borders and banning Muslims all-together. Initially, I wondered why he spoke so irrationally. {I mean, who else in history has hated an entire religion? I'm just saying- it started a world war.} Then it hit me- he always speaks without a filter. He isn't a politician by-trade...he's doesn't have the refined manner the others on the stage, on either side, have. However, by speaking irrationally he got free advertising. That is a business move, not necessarily a political move. He got the world talking- good or bad- about his campaign. #nopressisbadpress 

Then we have Hil...who is well-spoken and refined, totally politically correct. {Except for those emails and that time her husband got impeached.} She doesn't get flustered or speak irrationally, for the most part. She's a woman...which as gals go- I kind of have to be behind her a little and whisper "Girl Power!" and do air-high-fives, right? But...I can't high-five her because- do you guys have any clue what I would do if my husband did what ole Bubba did? I'm just saying- I can filet the hell out of a fish and Lorena Bobbitt wouldn't have a thing on me. #myknifegameistight {Except for that time I almost cut my finger off slicing a lemon}

There is a part of me that likes them both- and hates them both. I know that is impossible- you have to be red or blue. But I'm a Libra- we don't do that. We weigh our options and sometimes our best option is right down the middle. I want to be purple- the mixture of the two. I want the right to carry a gun in my purse, plus the right to have an abortion. {Maybe not all on the same day.} I am realistic- it doesn't make sense to me to take our right to bear arms away anymore than it makes sense to take away a woman's right to choose. 

Maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing to have a non-politician in the White House. The politicians that have resided there the last 16 years haven't done the best job, in my opinion...and we had one of each! Or on the flip side...maybe a woman can tidy up the mess in there? Eh, not sure.

In the meantime...I'm still planning to vote for Fitz. {As long as I can be Liv...or Gabby- I could whip that press room into serious shape.}

Holly, Jolly, Holiday Season

Christmas is my absolute favorite time of year...partly because our little community totally rocks out Christmas celebrations. Our local tree lighting downtown, complete with hot cocoa and Brunswick stew, starts out the season with a bang. The following day we all join together again to watch the Christmas parade...most of the time in flip flops. {Florida, we're gaining on you.}

One of our traditions is to put the tree up the day of the Christmas parade. A tradition that comes from my childhood. Every year we would attend the parade, sometimes visit the winter carnival at the elementary school, then scoot home to put up our tree...all while listening to Dolly Parton's Christmas Hits on cassette tape. When Little Miss was little, I continued the tradition but instead of the winter carnival, we usually shopped for a new ornament or five at The Christmas Shop. This year was the last year The Christmas Shop would be open- and since they began their closeout sale in November- I couldn't bear to see the bare {slight pun intended} walls. I wanted to remember it how it looked when I was little- and for Little Miss to remember it how it was when she was little. So we skipped it, knowing a new tradition would have to take it's place eventually, but not this year. This year we sat out ornament shopping all together in honor of the fun memories we shared at The Christmas Shop.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, we all enjoyed the silly visits from our Elf on the Shelf, Ruby. Her antics never cease to amaze us. {Except for that one night that she apparently got caught trying to fly back to the North Pole and had to remain in her original hiding spot...that was a perplexing morning- but we all made sure to stay quiet and get to bed early from there on out, to ensure that her magic wouldn't be seen.}

The night before Christmas, we baked cookies and went to Bub and Granddad's house for dinner. The turkey, the stuffing, the collards...{dear sweet baby jesus, the collards} it was all amazing. We were still full when I heard the stomping of tiny little seastar feet walking down the hall on Christmas morning.

"WAIT!!!" I said, dashing, prancing and dancing towards the living room. #reindeermoves

I stopped them just in time to get a picture of their faces as they ran passed us to check out their Santa stuff.

I, personally, think this was one of the best Christmas mornings yet. Thank you, little baby Jesus, for giving us a reason to celebrate with our family!

#HappilyEverSaunders

I remember the morning he asked me to marry him like it was yesterday. It was a warm and rainy Saturday morning in March. Our seastars were with their other parents and we were up early to head to the barn to feed our equine babies. I was looking forward to getting some barn time in because I had just started a new job at a law firm earlier that week.

I had no idea when he walked in the barn, where I was sitting on the feed bin, snuggling one of our horses, that he was about to ask me to be his wife. It couldn't have happened anymore perfectly. He literally had to lean over Lightning to kiss me and put the ring on my finger. 

We were so excited to share our news. And naturally, the first question(s) following 'Congratulations' was 'When are you setting a date? Or have you? Will it be a big wedding or small?' 

Over the next few months, we discussed plans...all while in the process of purchasing a home (where we could have our horses in our yard! #bestdreamcometrueever) and moving. We don't argue over much- but when it came to trying to plan a wedding without killing our life-budget? Instant tension. I have attended an insane amount of weddings and seen everything from high dollar to backyard throw-downs...and loved them all. We ultimately wanted the same thing- to live happily ever after, as a married couple. But how do we get there?

Our friends attempted to offer help, which ended up stressing me out more than anyone realized. While the suggestions were meant in a loving way, they became overwhelming. I didn't want a traditional wedding, but I wanted some key traditions.

"Let's just get married at the courthouse and have a reception somewhere" my then future-hubs told me.

"We can't do that...plus, I really want my dad to walk me down the aisle," I said.

We were very fortunate to have been offered to get married at our friend's gorgeous home- which did two things 1) cut costs way down #hugeblessing 2) made making reservations for a date much simpler.

"What if we just...have a surprise wedding? We could plan it as an engagement party...and get married."

"Let's do it."

The last week of August, we solidified our date for our surprise wedding. That's right, we planned an entire wedding in roughly 4 weeks and it couldn't have come together more perfectly.

A few weeks before our big day, I met with our amazing Pastor to discuss some details for our day. She was certain I was stopping by to announce that I was pregnant. #slowdown #wealreadyhave2 {I'm not pregnant.}

"No...but we are having a surprise wedding! And we want you to marry us!" I told her, excitedly.

"OHHHH!!!!! *squeal* OH!!! Your mom just recently shared her wedding story with me...your parents had a surprise wedding too!! How perfect!!" she said, squealing and rubbing her hands together with excitement.

As the days got closer to our "I Do" everything fell into place. We literally let Jesus take the wheel and trusted that everything would work out as it should. {Having faith is a powerful and beautiful thing}

The morning of September 26, 2015- I woke up with butterflies in my stomach. I was so excited to see everyone's faces and share our happiness with them. (A few select people knew ahead of time, because lets face it, we needed help to pull it off. I am so grateful for each and every person who helped us and kept our secret safe!) The rain that had loomed over our weekly forecast seemed to have faded and the forecast for the evening looked cloudy but dry. Whew!! I walked towards the bedroom door and heard my name being yelped from the hallway.

"Eden, my face is itchy..." said our littlest seastar.

I really wish we could have taken a photo of my face seeing her face for the first time that morning. Bless her sweet little heart, she had a rash covering the entire left side of her body. Thankfully, her Mimi whisked her off to Urgent Care to get some meds for the rash that we still have no clue what was caused from.

#tradedrainforarash

As the day went on, I realized over and over again how fortunate we are. Our parents were there to help prepare and share in our day. Our closest friends were with us to get ready and help set up our decor...we had a dream venue- we had the best photog and wedding planner in the world- who count as family. I couldn't image the day going any better.

As our guests arrived, I stood on the balcony and watched their surprised and excited expressions as they read the "Welcome to Our Wedding" sign.

"I'm in jeans!"
"I saw her yesterday, she didn't tell me!"
"OH MY GOD!!!!!! *Squeal*"

My favorite moment of the day was walking down the aisle with my daddy, who had the proudest smile on his face, and locking eyes with the man who has made all my dreams come true, and noticing that same proud smile on his face as he wrapped his arms around our girls.

Our day was absolutely perfect. We said "I do" in front of our closest friends and family...and it was truly about joining our families. There was no stress. No worry of this friend or that family member not getting along- everyone joined us and celebrated our love for each other like one big family...because that is what we are. One, big, gigantic, sometimes dysfunctional, sometimes a little wild, loving, giving, wonderful family.

Photography: Mary Basnight Photography
Wedding Planning: Best Day Ever OBX