When I am preparing to host an event, things get a little tense around here.
The housecleaning, yard work, meal planning, and thinking of little details like what everyone will wear and what hand towels will go in the bathroom, consume me. Everything I just mentioned doesn’t really cross Mr. Gaga’s mind at all and he just picks up some beer and tries to just fly under the radar so that I don’t murder him in his sleep.
On a warm day last week I came home from a long day and thought I would take the kids to one of the many frozen yogurt establishments in town. We had gone to Sweet Frog before and enjoyed it so we headed there after dinner.
The kids filled their cups with a variety of yogurt and toppings and we settled down at a table. The yogurt is amazing. Better than Pinkberry, better than any yogurt I have had. Also, the place is very cozy and there is nice comfortable seating. We were all going back and forth saying how much we loved it when I looked at the girl ringing up people’s yogurts.
I looked at her shirt and I did a double take.
I stopped eating with my spoon mid-air about to enter my mouth, squinting and looking very carefully at her shirt.
I put down my spoon and leaned forward a bit to get a closer look. I rubbed my eyes like they do in the movies thinking that I was seeing things.
“You guys – what does that girl’s shirt say?”
The boys read the shirt aloud. I was speechless.
I thought they were just cute frogs that had fake eyelashes and liked yogurt but apparently they have a much deeper meaning….
“I don’t get it ….what does God have to do with yogurt?” I asked the kids as they resumed eating their yogurt. “Rely on God that it will be good yogurt? I don’t get it!” I kept saying.
They ignored me.
Then I looked on the wall behind the register and saw this:
This says “Serving with eternal everlasting truth fully relying on God”
What the hell?
The other yogurt places I have been have signs about the benefits of probiotics and active cultures!
I was floored. I looked around…nobody seemed to notice that we were in some sort of cult-like yogurt facility. I looked down at the yogurt.
“Are they trying to save us through the yogurt?” I asked in a whisper to my 6 and 7-year-old boys, who stared back at me cluelessly.
Sam looked up from his yogurt….”Well I don’t know Mom…..but all I know is that God’s yogurt is delicious.”
He had a point.
I finished my yogurt, I mean just because it was cult yogurt doesn’t mean I shouldn’t eat it.
Two days later, I was doing some banking and I saw a strange charge.
This was the exact amount of the yogurt!
Hello! My YOGURT came up on my bank statement as HEAVENLY DEVINE INTERVENTION!!!!
Again, I rubbed my eyes and blinked fifty times to make it go away, but sure enough it was still there.
I thought – maybe I am seeing things. Maybe it really says “Sweet Frog Yogurt” but I see “Divine Intervention” because I am going crazy. Maybe Jesus is sending me a secret message before Michael’s communion. Maybe I am being saved!
I didn’t have time to think about it too much, I resumed running around like a lunatic getting ready for the party for the remainder of the week.
I did think a couple of times that maybe I was “saved” and just didn’t know it yet.
The night before the party, we had a lot of last minute stuff to do. I ran around in the backyard potting flowers and setting up tables and I noticed that Mr. Gaga was missing.
I went to the front yard to see that he had dipped into the beer for the party. He was holding a Corona in one hand and watering miscellaneous grass with the hose in his other hand.
*Apparently when you get saved from heavenly yogurt it doesn’t make you nicer to your husband.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked with potting-soil filled hands on my hips.
(Mr. Gaga doesn’t like it when I yell or swear outside where the neighbors can hear me and I generally don’t care.)
“I’m watering the lawn.”
If I didn’t know better, I would almost think that he WANTS us to get divorced…..
“I don’t give a flying fuck if every motherfucking blade of grass in this lawn explodes into flames on Monday!” I screamed very loudly. “Get in the backyard and help me!”
Tumbleweeds rolled by and neighbors stared.
We didn’t really speak much for the rest of the night.
In the morning I woke up at 6:30 to go pick up the cake and finish setting up for the party. I had ordered an Italian cake with strawberries and peaches and whipped cream in the shape of a cross for 60-80 people. When I realized that the number of people attending would actually be 45, I tried to make the cake smaller. When the bakery informed me that a smaller cake could not be made into the shape of a cross, I stuck with the larger size cross with “God Bless Michael” written across it.
What I hadn’t considered was that it would weigh about 75 pounds and fill the entire trunk of my car.
I drove home carefully and thought as I pulled into the driveway that I had nowhere to put the cake. I entered the house and headed downstairs to see if the basement fridge could accommodate this huge cross.
I put my bag down and tried to squeeze the box into the narrow space. The box got stuck halfway . I tried to pick the box up a bit and push it on an angle and it got stuck further. The more I pushed the more the box was folding in and possibly ruining the frosting and writing.
I started to sweat and call Mr. Gaga.
I tried to pull the box out and balance the cross on my knee while saying every curse word I could think of. By the time Mr. Gaga came down I was trying to push the box in backwards with my butt.
*Apparently when you get saved by yogurt you don’t really stop cursing.
“Why do we have a fucking stupid piece of shit refrigerator that doesn’t actually fit food?” I yelled.
I want a divorce What’s the problem, now?” he asked with exasperation.
“This fucking cross won’t fit in this asshole fridge.” I said with despair.
“I’ll take care of it – just go get ready,” he said sensing my pending nervous breakdown.
That was basically the last calamity and we all got dressed and got to the ceremony on time.
The ceremony went well, Michael did not sip from the filthy swine flu cup as I instructed him and everything ran smoothly.
We got home a little late but my sister-in-law helped me put out a cheese platter that had all of the meats in the shape of a cross which was perfect.
I had the tables set up with beautiful flowers, candles and wine bottles that were teals and yellows. The red wine bottles had gorgeous crosses on the label.
I took pictures of everything and the party went off without a hitch. The weather was perfect and the food was perfect….(maybe the yogurt really was saving me after all.)
Even the cake wasn’t too mangled from the basement drama.
I had time to run around taking candids of our family and of Michael and Sam and it was a great day.
When everyone left and the kids were in bed I went to download all 50 pictures from my iPhone to
see how fat I looked relive the glory of this holy day.
Somehow in the transfer process from phone to computer they got DELETED!!!
“WHY GOD?? WHY??”
I got a cake in the shape of a cross!
I fought with other mothers to get the perfect date for my son’s first holy communion!!
I served prosciutto fashioned into a huge cross!!
This is the thanks I get?
I tried to take pictures of what was left after the party – but somehow it doesn’t seem quite the same.
Here’s a part of the cake….
I went to bed disgruntled and exhausted.
In the morning we all woke up late. I was so tired, I barely put makeup on, threw my hair up and went to head out to work.
I realized quickly that my bag was missing with my wallet, and basically my life in it. I searched everywhere. I went outside and checked the car and it wasn’t there.
I started to have heart palpitations and a pit started to grow in my stomach.
Mr. Gaga picked up the phone on one ring, “Good morning,” he answered cheerfully.
“Someone stole my bag!” I said frantically rummaging through my closet and looking under my bed. “I have searched the entire house!”
He calmly reminded me how I had come in the day before swearing and acting like a maniac in the basement with the cake.
I ran to the basement and what do you know…next to the fridge….there was my bag.
He is a pretty smart guy.
“Oh thank God, ok have a good day!” I said rushing to get in the car.
“Wait…so were you about to accuse our families of stealing your pocketbook?” Mr. Gaga demanded with disgust.
“Um….well…yes……or maybe the caterer?” I answered weakly.
It was at that moment that I realized no matter how much Sweet Frog yogurt someone consumes….some people just can’t be saved.
PLEASE CLICK ON THE BANNER BELOW TO AT LEAST SAVE MY PLACE ON THE TOP MOMMY BLOGS!! XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA