Uncle Paul

It is no exaggeration when I tell you that K has a slight obsession with her Godfather, “Uncle Paul.”

I say this because last time we were in Atlanta, she was hoping he would be in town during our visit (he is the tour manager for the Zac Brown Band and obviously on the road a lot).  Much to her delight she not only was able to see him, but she took it upon herself to ‘interview’ him even going so far as to whip out her iPad mini for a quick photo of him (I later found it on her iPad and had to send it to Aunt Shea).

He had mentioned to Kenley that she should come to a show sometime, and truthfully I didn’t think much about it since the man is plenty busy without worrying about tickets for us lil’ Tally girls. But lo and behold, Uncle Paul didn’t forget his favorite fan and lined up tickets for Britton, Kenley and myself when they were playing in a city only 2.5 hours from our house.

Aunt Shea was suppose to come as well, braving the 5 hour drive with their three girls- but alas, life happens and one thing led to another and she couldn’t make the trip.

To press on or call it quits?

Never. The girls and I packed our overnight Vera Bradely bags because by golly, we were going to Zac Brown’s concert Aunt Shea or no Aunt Shea. Because as it turns out, the only person Kenley really wanted to see was Uncle Paul.

Uncle Paul via grateful simplicity

 

I confess, I thought maybe it was an act, this pretending to be an Uncle Paul fan, but I was wrong. The girl just loves her some Uncle Paul. I think it’s because he was kind enough to allow her to interview him last  time — and we all know that if you pay enough attention to a middle child, you’ve gained a friend of life.

 

If it weren't for a selfie my children would never have me in a picture

If it weren’t for a selfie my children would never have me in a picture

Pre-concert primping

Pre-concert primping in the hotel – my camera was so excited it didn’t know where to focus

 

So off to the stadium we went, stopping briefly for some soup and salad at some trendy restaurant downtown. Just me and my girls (and my phone, mace, and emergency cash).

Uncle Paul left Kenley us special lanyards that said something to the effect of ‘I’m with the band’ which makes anyone ages 9-38 feel a little bit special amongst the masses.  All was going well, we found out (great) seats, settled in with some cotton candy and soda, when I made the mistake of reading Kenley the text that Paul had sent.

“I’ll try to text you during the show so you can come back and say hello.”

Big mistake. Huge. From that point on Kenley could have cared less about Cole Swindall, Keith Urban, and much less Zac and his band.  All she wanted to know was where was Uncle Paul? Every 5 minutes she wanted to check my phone, scope the crowds, squint to see if she could see him side stage. Honestly, she started to annoy me a little bit. After the 32nd nudge for my to check my phone, I turned to her and said in a stern voice, “Kenley, you have to stop this.  Uncle Paul is working tonight. This stadium is his office. He isn’t just sitting down, watching the show like us.”

She pointed to the middle of the floor where a sound booth (or something techy) was set up and said with a straight face, “yes he is sitting down watching the show. I see him.”

 

Lord help us.  As it turns out, it would be easier to get in to see the Governor than it is to get behind the stage. Long story short, Uncle Paul rocked (ha, ha- get it) and really came through be getting the girls not just back stage but on stage with the ZBB band for a once in a lifetime evening. One would think Kenley may have really wanted to meet the infamous band members but not so much for she whipped out a notebook paper and pen she made me carry and immediately asked for Uncle Paul’s autograph. I’m not making this up, honest.  She later told me for as long as she lives, she will always have her Blanky, Floppy (stuffed bunny) and Uncle Paul’s autograph.

FullSizeRender

 

His number one fan went to sleep with a bounce in her step and a smile on her face.

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