The Things I Will Never Live Down: The Adult Years (So Far).

Good morning.

It's snowing.

But I had a caramel white hot chocolate and I didn't have to drag myself to a freezing cold class this morning.
Boy do I have a story for you guys on Monday.

I spent an hour yesterday shivering and "experiencing... the raisin."

I could do without this class but I need it for graduation.

I'm just stalling before I out myself on things I will never live down as an adult.

But really, I'm telling my raisin story on Monday.

If you don't like raisins you'll feel for me.

If you do, you should feel for me anyway.

So today I get to tackle the big dog cookie story.  The mother of all "I will never live this down stories."

But first, when Julie-Mom tells you there are diet cookies on the counter and you believer her, even though she wasn't serious and just saying that because everyone is on a diet but everyone wants one... it's not because you're gullible, it's because you're trusting.

I trust you, Julie-Mom.

So when you tell me you have diet cookies on the counter and I tun and see trays of giant Lofthouse sugar cookies, of course I'm going to be amazed that they'd be so kind as to make their rich, sweet cookies in a diet form.

Shame on you for taking advantage of me like that.

And Nick.

You know every bit as well as I do that the curb in front of that Jamba Juice is twice as high as a regular sized curb (it really is too, you in Bountiful can go check it out) so when I'm talking to you and not looking, just assuming that that curb is going to be regular height, and when I only take a regular high step to step on it, but then hit my toe against it because it's so friggin' tall, and go sailing onto the sidewalk, stumbling to catch myself, arms flailing wildly like windmills, it might be appropriate for you to fall down laughing on the sidewalk with tears streaming down your face, but it is not appropriate for you to pretend that that was all me.

Dude, that curb is giant.

Pay attention at the Bountiful Jamba Juice.

You're reputation depends on it.

Now.

Before I start the next story I have some pictures I'd like to submit for evidence.

Evidence #1  {source}

Evidence #2  {source}

Evidence #3  {source}

It was Christmas time.

I was newly divorced and living with Brent-Dad and Julie-Mom.

I'm addicted to sugar type treats and they never had any in the house.

It was so bad that I took to using one of my dresser drawers to stash chocolate, cookies, and chips for my girls and, let's face it, mostly me.

But on this night my stash had run out.  I was rummaging through the kitchen, the girls where in bed and no one else was home, for whatever reason.

I needed a snack.

Something, anything.

And then I found them in a cupboard.

Evidence #4  {source}

They were in a cute holiday cellophane bag, like someone had dropped them off as a nice neighbor gift for Christmas.

These are my favorite.  Victory and Hallelujah.

So I ate a couple and went on my merry way.

The next day I noticed that Julie-Mom pulled out that same holiday cellophane bag of cookies and proceeded to give cookies to... the dogs.

I was aghast.

I can't imagine the look of horror on my face when I realized and the wild look of laughter on Julie-Mom's face when she heard my confession.

That was my mistake right there.

Owning up to it.

In my defense.  Please consult evidence #1-3.  Those tasty treats are all dog cookies.

And the cookies I found looked in every way like Mother's Chocolate Chip cookies.  And the taste was not off either.  I had no indication.

Why in the world would anyone make dog treats look identical to people treats?

Do they have no idea what confusion they're creating?

It's ridiculousness.

I'm pretty sure the dogs aren't going to be offended if every tasty treat you give them is shaped like a bone.  They're not going to call discrimination on their species.
They won't cry that you shouldn't assume that all treats should look like bones just because they're a dog.

So just do it.
Make your chocolate chip dog cookies in bone shape.
Because the dogs don't care.
And people do.

I want you to know that this post took a little bit of courage on my part.
And though I know I'm opening myself up for more teasing and jokes than I already get on this subject, and that's totally okay because I'm a good sport and all but... have a little mercy, m'kay?

The things I will never live down: childhood years HERE
The things I will never live down: the teenage years HERE

The Things I Will Never Live Down: The Teenage Years

I have to say that Julie-Mom is having way too much fun reminding me of the things that I will never live down.

Of course, she's a big part of why they come up at every family gathering.

And why I will never live them down.

Mostly she has a lot of dirt on me for my adult years.

You would think you would grow out of this kind of stuff?

As a teenager I thought I would be funny and I squirted Dick-Dad with a small water gun.

And I mean small.

But it was right in the face.

He was shocked, I giggled and ran away.

I don't recall why I thought this would be a good idea, or what possessed me to even do it.

I ran away to my room where I proceeded to get ready for a meeting of some sort or other for the youth at church.

My room was in the basement.  It was decorated in pinks and grays.  At one point it had a giant round bed that I hated making because it was so hard to tuck square sheets around a a giant round mattress.

My parents had no sympathy on me, which is probably why I now have no sympathy on my own kids when they complain about changing their sheets on a top bunk bed.

Later in my teen years that round bed was swapped out for a king sized waterbed (do they still make those?) and I still hated making it.

And my parents still had no sympathy for me.

I stood at my dresser that was cluttered with make-up, jewelry, and hair supplies.  A large, and very heavy antique mirror hung on the wall above my dresser.

This spot is where I would stand and primp to my teenager heart's content.

This spot was kitty-corner from the door of my room, and as I stood at my dresser my back was to my door, but I could see it clearly in my mirror.

I was leaned in, over the dresser, inspecting my face or some other such silly thing when I noticed movement in my mirror.  As I straightened up I saw my dad looking at me from the door way.

We made eye contact through the mirror and then suddenly I saw nothing but a giant spray of water coming at me from behind.

It was like a movie.

I was drenching and screaming like, well, a little girl.

When the water finally stopped I turned and looked at my dad.

He was a fireman and had access to all sorts of things that I wasn't even aware that we had in our home.

Like a water fire extinguisher that now stood in front of him, as tall as his knees.

He'd taken its hose, aimed, and turned that bad boy on.

Let this be a lesson to all of you who have fire fighter fathers.

Do not take them on with a small water gun.

You will not win.

And you will go to your church meeting with wet hair and have water warped posters on your wall.

You will.

And I have no defense for this story.  It is what it is.

Unless stupid teenage girl is a defense?  It  sounds perfectly reasonable to me.

Right after graduation Julie-Mom loaded up all five of we kids and we drove off to the airport for an adventure of a lifetime.

My Brent-dad was currently stationed in Germany with the Army and as a graduation gift to me, we were going to fly over to there and bum around for two weeks.  My dad would be taking his leave to show us around.

The trip was grueling.

If a flight could be delayed, it was.

If a connecting flight could be missed, it was.

I should probably dig out my old journals where I wrote down every detail of this trip because I didn't want to forget a moment of it, and give you the details of how long and miserable our travel around the globe was, but that will have to be a post for another time.

Let it be said that by the time we reached the airport in Germany, we were all exhausted to the bone.

To tell the story from here in Julie-Mom's words:
"We were so exhausted when we finally got to Germany... and we all got in the elevator at the airport there and you just let one rip.  You didn't even care.  We tried to call you out on it but you were like, so what?  It was so unlike you because you usually have it all together (and I hate bathroom humor!) but you were so tired after our cross the world trip that you just farted and wouldn't even laugh about it."

For the record I have blanked this memory out and have no recollection of it whatsoever.

I did no such thing.

But the thought of me doing it...

No... I didn't.

Though on that same trip while visiting a concentration camp I did tell my little sister Kimmy that if she went into the bathroom she might get gassed.

In my defense I was totally joking and didn't expect her to believe it.

Who ever believes me?

But the poor girl wouldn't go near a bathroom (and she had to pee) while we were at that place and I've felt bad about it ever since.

Sorry Kimmy.

There was also the time when my friends and I were hanging out in my basement TV Room and for some reason we decided to light a fire in the fireplace.

Because I knew how to do that.

But someone *ahem* forgot to open the flue and smoke started pouring into the room.

We were coughing and eyes were burning as I struggled to open that dang thing and get the air flow in the direction it needed to go.

Actually, I might have done that as an adult, as a single mom in my brand new house with my girls.

You'd think a person would learn.

In my defense, if a chimney is cold the air won't suck up, so you have to hold burning paper up the chimney to get the heat going.

At least this is what my Dick-Dad always did.

And I have learned a few times that it's not a bad way to start it out.

You might die of smoke inhalation otherwise.

Also, this is a lesson to not brag up your fire making skills until after you've got the fire going.

For The things I will never live down: the childhood years go HERE
For The things I will never live down: the adult years (so far) go HERE

The Things I Will Never Live Down: The Childhood Years

You know those things that you do that you will never live down?

Like ever.

I know there's a couple in my life that I feel I need to defend because comments about them are never going to go away.

Like ever.

And I need you to know that it was a very honest mistake.

To make sure I covered it all, I asked on Facebook what were some of the things that my friends and family feel I will never live down in their eyes.

My word.

I have a lot of explaining to do.

*crack knuckles*

Let's begin, shall we?

Growing up I had the privilege of living next door to my grandparents Martin, who were the most amazing people in the world and will continue to be heroes and examples in my eyes.  Their influence on me as a child directs me still as an adult.

They had the coolest tree in their front yard.  It was huge.

Ginormous even,

It had a perfect flat base at the top of the trunk, in between where all the giant branches started breaking off into separate directions.  Two branches, one on either side of the tree, branched out just vertically enough that you could lift your arms above your head and wrap them around one of those branches, and walk your feet up the trunk until you were in the middle of the tree.

I spent pretty much every day of my childhood in that tree, and so did most of my childhood friends.

And childhood boyfriends.

I was reminded, on this quest of things I will never live down, of a time when I was up in this tree with one of these boys. Who knows what game we were playing.

But that boy tried to kiss me.

And I resisted.

And I fell out of the tree.

Apparently one of my friends is still telling this story to people she knows.

And I guess I don't really have a defense to this except if you don't want to be kissed, then you certainly shouldn't have to be kissed.

At any cost.

Growing up next to my grandparents also meant that we had a huge backyard.  The two backyards were left open and connected between the two houses with a swing set on one end, and a sandbox under an apple tree on the other, and a huge stretch of green grass in between.  There was a cement path that led from the driveway of my house, to the back patio of my grandparents house.

My parents, Dick and KC, like to tell the story of how one fine summer evening we were all sitting together on my grandparents patio, when, for whatever reason I decided I needed to run home for something.  In the awkward stages of pre-teendom, I tripped over my own feet and somehow, in one fall, managed to scrape both the front, and the back of the same knee.

Talented, I know.

In my defense:  when I realized that I was going to fall from my trip, it crossed my mind that I most certainly did not want a scraped knee.  So I stuck my hands out and as soon as they hit the ground I flipped myself over on my butt to avoid hitting my knees on the cement.

I think this is a rather clever thought process.

Unfortunately, by the time I had fallen enough for my hands to hit the ground, my knee did too.  And when I flipped myself over, "mid-fall" as I used to describe it, I went over the small lip of cement that was between the path and the patio, and it then scraped the backside of my knee as well.

Can you blame a girl for trying?

This post is getting long and I still have a few to tell from when I was a teenager and then some to tell as an adult.

I think I might need to turn this into a series.

But these means if you have stories of things you feel, in your eyes, I will never live down, please tell me.  I would love to defend myself.

Tomorrow:  The things I will never live down: the teen years HERE
The things I will never live down: the adult years (so far) HERE

The Joke's On Me. And Osmosis Genetics.

Well, it finally happened.  Sleet is slushing from the sky.  A wonderful combination of snow and rain.
Not that I actually enjoy it, but sometimes it's nice when a storm blows through. 

This, of course, affects The Man and his ability to work outside.

So he gets to play stay-at-home dad today.  Which includes making sure the kids are dressed (I have a feeling that matching will be optional today), making sure that chores get done, and then he gets to haul all six to the dentist.

This, of course, makes me giggle inside.

Have you ever sat in a dentist's waiting room while you wait for six kids to cycle through cleanings with one dentist?

I hope he has a good book.

Which I know he doesn't so I giggle a little more.

But truthfully I think the joke's on me. 

If The Man is staying home and shuffling The Circus to the dentist then he needs the Navi. 

That leaves me with... the monster truck.

Seriously guys.

The hood of this monster truck is as tall as the regular truck in front of me.

And the drive-thru window at McD's?

(Curse you McDonald's Coke for sucking me in!)

(Why is McDonald's not endorsing all of my plugs with free cokes?)

They had to reach up to me.

Actually, I got a peppermint hot chocolate this morning.

 

It's the simple things in life.

 

Speaking of the simple things in life.

 

Brynn, October 2002, 1 year old

Brynn, Christmas night, December 25, 2003, 2 years old

 Seriously, I love this crying picture of Brynn.  She just did not want Christmas to end.

Brynn's biker bum, January 2004, 2 years old

 When we lived on the farm, and it was snowy and cold and winter time, and I only had two kids old enough to ride a bike (with training wheels of course) I let them ride inside the farm house.

Baby T-Bug, October 2004, 1 year old

She gets her chocolate brown eyes from Grandpa Dick.

 

We like to say this because it's impossible.  Grandpa Dick is my step-dad so there are no physical genetics crossing over here.  But still, sometimes you have to wonder if things like this happen by osmosis? Because even though my ex has brown eyes, his are more like root beer float than like chocolate.

 

It's the same as how I get my allergies from Grandpa Dick.

 

I don't question it.

I, Cali, will never, ever, ever, ever cut my own hair again. Ever.

Ever since Cali's self haircut (here), she's been begging me, asking me when Andalin is going to fix her bangs.

Everyone needs a friend like Andalin.  She's the cutest thing ever.  And not only can she cut a mean head of hair, she makes house calls.

She'll come and cut hair in my kitchen so I can continue to do the things I need to do, like make dinner (or order a pizza), go over homework, and watch the season premiere of Vampire Diaries...

Also, the kids don't go crazy waiting around a salon.  They can just be home doing what they need and want to do until it's their turn.

Repeat after me:
I, Cali, will never, ever, ever cut my own hair again.  Ever.
Or anyone else's hair.  Ever.
If I need my hair cut I won't do it myself.  Ever. 
I'll call Andalin to do it for me.  Because she knows how.  And she won't cut it to my scalp.

Cali kept telling Andalin, "just cut my bangs so they're fixed," and I started to wonder if she was thinking Andalin could cut them to be long again.

So I told Cali, "you know, Cali, Andalin can't make that hair longer.  She can only cut your other hair so it covers it and hides it.  The only way to fix that cut hair is to just let it grow on its own."

She pouted.  Which told me I was right in wondering if that's what she thought.

Which also reminded me of a time when Brynn was two or three years old.  Brynn looked at her big sister Casidee, who had longer hair than she did and she would cry to me,

"Mom, please cut my hair long."

And I would smile at her and tell her that I couldn't cut hair long.  Cutting hair makes it short.  You just have to wait for it to grow long on its own.

And she would look at me, "but Mom, please cut it long.  I want long hair."

And I would again tell her that it wasn't possible to cut hair long.

She would melt into big crocodile tears, not understanding why her mom would be so mean as to not let her cut her hair to be long.  She just wouldn't grasp the concept.

Which is especially funny now since Brynn is not at all a fan of long hair.  If her hair is touching her shoulders, then it's too long.

I've only made the request that it not get cut above her chin.

As it goes, if Andalin shows up to cut one head of hair, the others are all going to want to follow suit.

Jayme got some bangs and a few inches trimmed off.

Cas got side sweep bangs and layers on the front.

Tayler got layers added all around.

They all look adorable.

Thanks Andalin, it's always fun to have a beauty salon show up in your own house.  Especially with someone who is always so happy and smiling, who talks and jokes with the kids, and listens to the incessant talking of a seven year old.

We all agree, you're the best! Ever.

My new favorite song right now is from a Utah band that's hopefully making it big. 
I'm so in love with this song. 



Happy weekend y'all.

We're carving pumpkins with Ert and Sam.
And...
huh. 

I guess we'll have to make the weekend up as we go along.

Here's to hoping you get all the good things in life that you're looking for.

Memory Lane: Quincy and the Halloween Dessert

Once upon a time I put granola in my breakfast bowl and went to the fridge for milk, only to find that there wasn't any.
So I grabbed a V-8 and headed to work.
On my way home from work I stopped at the grocery store and picked up breadsticks and sour cream for dinner that night and headed home.
The next morning I put granola in my breakfast bowl and went to the fridge for milk, only to find that there still wasn't any.
So I grabbed a V-8 and headed to work.
On my way home from work I stopped at the grocery store and picked up some fresh tomatoes and a jar of pickle stackers for dinner that night and headed home.

When I got home I realized what I'd done.  Again.

Don't worry, the kids got things like pancakes for breakfast. 

But last night, when I got home and realized that, for the second day in a row, I'd stopped at the store and not bought milk, we rounded up and went to Target for odds and ends as a family... and I finally got milk.

Today I decided that I needed to go through that giant binder that has sorted, un-scrapbooked pictures in it and start posting my old fall/Halloween pictures.

The first one I came across is pretty lame, but I didn't have too much time to rummage through the binder since, as always, I'd left this to last minute and I needed to splitsville to work.

So today you get this:

I look so little.

And I'm thinking my cake skills have come along a bit since then...

Any guesses on how old I was in this picture???

This was October of 2002, I was 23 years old, and about 3 months (?) pregnant with my third child.  I was living in Quincy, Washington on the Hodges farm and I remember having this picture taken.  I'm pretty sure I made this dessert for a dinner that we'd invited people over for?  We were always inviting people over for Sunday dinner, and hands down, this picture was taken on a Sunday because I still have that skirt, and believe me, I only wear skirts on Sunday.

I used to be such a social person, but it seems I'm not so much any more. 

Perhaps I'll make that a resolution.  We need to start inviting people over more.  Game night?  Dessert night?  Plain ol' come eat dinner with us night.  I just wonder if anyone would want to :).

I remember being pretty dang pleased with that there dessert, as you can see by the humongous smile on my face. And the fact that I had a picture of it taken, because frankly, there aren't a lot of pictures with me in them from back then.

Alrighty then... who's coming over on Saturday ;).

Nastolgia in my iPod

Apparently my iPod was feeling nastolgic this morning.
Song after song played and it took me back to my "college days," the first round where I didn't finish, but I still had a lot of fun.

It reminded me of Lambda Delta Sigma-Kappa mostly.
It reminded me of dressing up as the 3 amigos on Cinco de Mayo.
It reminded me of Sarah's red lipstick.
And how there were a million Stephanie's and so I acquired the nick name Sunnie, which I went by up until my divorce.
It reminded me of the Peter Breinhold concert on campus (which was one of the songs my iPod threw at me this morning).
It reminded me of institute.  Oh how I loved institute. I got my 4 year institute certificate in 2 years.
And all the art classes I was enrolled in.
It reminded me of charcoal and ink all over my hands every day.
And of the early morning temple trips.
And that guy in one of my art classes who looked just like Rob Thomas (the lead singer of Matchbox 20).
It reminded me of Sunnie's Bub n' Dee, which made me sad because though I've recently come in touch with Bub again, Dee isn't talking to me because she's now my ex sister-in-law.

That breaks my heart.

It reminded me of the singing group sensation "The Fermatas," who always walked around and said "hold me, I'm a fermata."  Because a fermata is a note that you hold when singing.  Clever boys they were.
And "City of Angels."
I thought of the time Bub's brother drove us a mile out from their house and dropped us off so we had to run back.  I died that day.
I remember the contract.  The contract where you had to pay goodies for holding hands or kissing a boy.
I still have that contract actually.
"Good job, Jen," and our trip to California.
Jenny Perry and how I loved to say her full name because it almost rhymed.
The color yellow.
Working at the advertising agency, Dahlin, Smith, White.
It kind of makes me sad because I think of all the girls I knew from Kappa, and I can see their faces, but I'm having a hard time remembering their names.
Maybe I need to have a memory lane session with Bub.

Hey Bub.  Let's do lunch again.
I need a pic of us together.

So for the sake of my iPod's nastolgia this morning, here's some songs that played out in a row and sent me back to that time.







Dude, Savage Garden was my first concert ever.  They sang "Like a Virgin," and I laughed until I cried.

There's so much I wish I would have done differently.
I would have dated a ton more guys.  I had the chance... I just didn't. 

I should have.

I would have finished my degree.  I had the chance... I just didn't.

I should have.

I can now though.  I am.

I would have stayed in touch with everybody.  I had the chance... I just didn't.

I should have.

But as it is there's still so much I did right and I remember that time with fondness.  I've been recently finding friends from that time on facebook, and as much as I come to get so sick of facebook sometimes, it's for that reason that I love it.  I'd never reconnect with lost friends if it weren't for that crazy website.

So with those memories and thoughts I get to start my Friday and say happy weekend!  We're a little off this weekend having only Jay and Sean with us.
My ex asked to be able to use this weekend for a camping trip with the girls so we'll be thrown off sync for a couple of weekends.  I don't like it when that happens, but what do you do?

While preparing for my lesson on Sunday I ran across this video.  About being a friend and a companion. 
It's by Jeffrey R. Holland who is my personal favorite, he seems to nail it right on the head for me every time.
I've not always been the best friend in my life, but I'm trying to change that.

I've been rounding up my text books to head back to school.  Again.  Maybe this time I'll finish it?  Yes.  A resounding yes.  I'm sick of it hanging over my head.  Let's get on with this and get it over with all ready.

One book I couldn't find online.  I couldn't rent it for a fraction of the cost, I coudn't find it used on a non-school affiliated website.
And I gumbled.  The book is written by the teacher.  The only place I can find it is on campus.
How posh is that?  Write a book (because this book is a book of police stories), require it for you class, and then charge $100 a pop.
Seriously, this book is a small paperback and I should have paid no more than $15 for it, realistically.  But I bought a used copy for $71.
It makes me so frustrated that textbooks are like this.

I was complaining about it at work and now I have this on my desk:

The guys are calling it the "charity by a book fund."

I think they can pay for the first sentence with that.
I think I'll just buy them a drink with their own money.
They can share the drink.
Actually, looking at it, I could buy two drinks for them.
They can share two drinks.

Our "engagement"... what really happened. Part 3

Part 1
Part 2

A few weeks ago I was sitting in church waiting for a youth meeting to start.  One of the Young Women, Mik, pointed at my wedding ring. 
"That's a gorgeous ring."
I smiled, I do love my ring.  "Thanks.  It was my grandma's."
"What does the ring look like that West gave you?"
"He didn't give me one.  I wanted to wear my grandma's ring."
"You said 'yes' without a ring?"
"Well... there wasn't ever an actual proposal..."

West wanted to get married and do it right.  And by right I mean with all the details that he and I wanted.  The beach.  The dress.  Family.  Food.  Music.  Mostly the beach.  And the dress.  And the family.  But he was done living apart. 

"Just come live with me and we'll save for the wedding."

But I couldn't.  It was ingrained into my very being.  I couldn't live with him if we weren't married.  But what if...  what if we secretly eloped and didn't tell anyone.  Then I could move in and everyone would think that we still needed to have a wedding.  If they don't know we're married, they'll be excited about a beach wedding with us and they'll want to come and support us in it... right?

It made sense to us then.

I can't remember the details.  The timing.  I know that we talked about it for a week or two, mentioning it here and there, testing out how we felt about that alternative.  I was for it.  West was unsure.

"You know if we got married by the end of the year we could do our taxes together," West suggested.
We decided to call the court house and see if there were any openings.  It was December 30, 2009.  We had one more day before the year ended.  The court was all booked up, but on New Year's Eve 2009, West and I met at the courthouse during my lunch hour to sign a wedding license.  West called up his neighbor who lived three houses down that we had met a couple of times.  He was the LDS bishop in the neighborhood. 

Are you busy tonight?  Do you have five minutes to help us out? 

He did.

In a matter of 24 hours we went from months of talking about it to just getting it done.

It was almost a surreal experience, standing in that office signing the license with West.  He wants to marry me.  He wants to marry me?  I kept going back and forth in my mind between it being an excited statement to an anxious question.

Was he really ready to do this?  Was I?

After work I got my circus ready to spend the night at West's for New Year's eve.  I loaded them into my car and drove down to meet my... fiance?  I guess he was my fiance for a few hours.

It was like our first date again.  I could barely look him in the eye, and when I did I was searching for reassurance that he really wanted to be doing this. 

He was looking at me and trying to assess the same from me.  He was nervous that maybe I didn't really want to do it.

But we never said these worries out loud.  Not until later, much later.

I was quiet and didn't know what to say.  I couldn't figure out why I was feeling so shy around him all of a sudden, but after we got the kids settled down he took my hand, smiled at me, called me "Mrs. Withers", so he could be the first to say it, and we slipped out of the house and walked three houses down.

We stood in front of our neighbor's fireplace, holding hands, listening to him speak our vows, saying 'I do' to each other.  He slipped my grandma's ring, which I had been wearing on right hand up until then, onto my left.  And then a gentle kiss.  A kiss full of promise. 

We were in jeans.

In five minutes it was done.

I didn't get a single picture.  I regret that desperately.  And in hindsight, I regret that our kids weren't there.  We wanted them at the wedding. The wedding we were certain we would pull off. 

Two and a half years later we still have yet to seriously go for it.  We're too busy living.  Remodeling, vacationing, being a family.

I'm okay with that.

Since we made the decision to get married in a 24 hour time frame, I had yet to make any preparations to move to West's house and we lived seperately for the first month of our married life.  It was odd, not living in the same house as my new husband.  I finally got it pulled together, the house was on the market, the trailer was loaded up with all my worldly belongings, and the move was finally made.

A month after we got married, life with my new husband could really begin.

That's the real story. 

And we haven't looked back.

Part 4

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Our "engagement"... what really happened. Part 2

Part 1

In a last effort to "save" our marriage, my ex and I decided to try counseling to help us with the walls that had been built and with the issues that we had created in our relationship.  After having been to counseling I believe that it truly is something that can help you.  I went again to help me with the effects of things after the divorce and I was given what I needed to let go, forgive myself and others, and move on (here).

Marriage counseling will only help if both partners are willing to listen and take in what's being said and sorted through.  One person can't do it alone.

The ex and I met with the counselor together a couple of times when she suggested that she'd like to meet with each of us on our own. 

Apparently, with my childhood holding certain elements that it did (a small bit of that here), she wanted to talk to me a little more about that.  She told me that she was amazed that I didn't have addictions of my own.  She mentioned that usually kids who are left to raise themselves, in a sense, usually tend to console themselves in habits.  One thing that she pointed out to me was that I was in need of love.  I wanted to be in a loving relationship and yet here I was, married to a man who was incapable of giving it to me.

I only bring this up because I think it comes in to play with West too.  Not the part of him not being able to love me, because he most certainly does, but I believe the part about myself wanting a loving relationship, is what made me hang on through our first year of dating.

During our second date (which was supposed to be our first date), I was finally starting to ease up around him, and I could finally look him in the eye when we talked.  I learned that Matthew was his first name that he rarely used, and that most people in his life call him by his middle name, West.  I watched him swallow an oyster that I wouldn't touch, and our first kiss happened over a pool table.  He took me by surprise, he had just finished his turn and I was coming around the table to line up my shot, ending up right where he was standing when he just leaned in and gently kissed me before getting out of my way.  I looked at him in surprise and he just grinned that killer grin at me.

At that time in my life I was hanging out with my brother Nick and his friend Tyler (who happens to now be my brother in law), and we hung out a lot at a certain club where Nick was a bouncer.  That meant free entry and free pool for me.  Nick had hooked West and I up that night and it so happened that Tyler was there with other people on the pool table next to us.  After West kissed me and walked away Tyler leaned over my shoulder and whispered, "that was smooth."  I laughed, yes it was.  And I liked it.

The first year of dating West was a roller coaster. 
We'd break up (here and here).
We'd find ourselves back together only days later (here).
We'd break up.
We'd find ourselves back together only days later.
We'd break up (here).
After this break up I didn't contact him at all.  I was tired of being dumped.  The break ups were never harsh or rude, there was never any name calling or hurtful things said.  He just said that he knew he wanted to be with someone like me, but he couldn't.  He needed space and I came with me needing companionship and love, and four kids to boot.

Three days later I got a text.  "Can I call you?"
I was so confused.  I had been going back and forth between wondering if I loved him and thinking that this was not the man that I would marry.  I was ready by this third break up to let him just walk away.  I didn't want to do it anymore, no matter what my feelings for him were.

So of course, I let him call me.  And he felt bad that he hadn't heard from me at all.  I told him I was done being dumped, it was getting old.

A few months later we were lying on the couch in my brand new house having a "talk."
I told him that I knew how I felt about him, but I had no idea how he felt about me.  He was sitting, and I was lying across his lap. He said,
"I love you.  I love you very much."
And me being the stoic person that I am (ha), cried. (here)

I trusted that he did.  West wasn't in it for the game of it.  He wasn't feeling the need to win me.  There were no flowers or fluffy words.  He didn't do or say anything until he felt it.  Which led to a very frustrating first year, and a very boyfriend bragging second year.  It was this attribute about him that left me comfortable in knowing that I could trust his intentions, and know that he meant it.

West wanted me to move in right after we hit our year mark and finally said "I love you" to each other.  One month after I bought my very own house, moving out of my apartment.  I huffed.  Where was this four weeks ago?  You know, before I took on my mortgage?

I resisted.  I loved my house.  I loved that I was able to buy it and put my circus in a beautiful neighborhood.  I had great neighbors who helped me out so much and... I was scared of marriage.  So we dated for another year.  Spending every weekend and holiday together, taking the circus to Disneyland for the first time (here, here, and here) and going on a cruise to the Bahamas (here, here, here, here, and here) .  It was a half hour commute between our houses but we saw each other most week nights anyway.  I was living out of my car.  And if I wasn't driving to his house after work, we were on the phone texting and talking for most of the evening.

Finally, by the end of our second year together, talk of taking it to the next step increased. 
We wanted a beach wedding.  Small.  Intimate.  Tropical.
We knew we couldn't afford it.  West wanted me to move in while we saved for it but I knew I couldn't live with him if I wasn't married to him and it seemed we were at a stand still on the matter.

Until I thought of a compromise, and West agreed...

Part 3
Part 4

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Our "engagement"... what really happened. Part 1

Meeting West.

To refresh our memories, I announced the story of my engagement to West HERE.

Go ahead and read it, I'll wait.

Okay, up to speed?  It has since come out that West and I didn't get engaged that night, although that's the story we stuck to for a little over a year.  It's been sitting in the back of my brain that I need to record the real story. 

I get all giddy when I watch a chick flick or read a good girly novel because love is amazing and I certainly enjoy a plot where love overcomes.  It does not make we wistful and dreamy.  Why would it when I have my very own fairytale where love has overcome.  These things always make me relate back to real life and The Man that I have. 

The Man has a thing against people fantasizing over movie stars (I don't blame him), but seriously, it isn't about them.  It's about him.

I digress.

After my divorce I was pretty blank.  Empty.  And in desperate need of some validation.  I plunged almost immediately into the online dating world.  The first one I joined was a local group.  I had to go to their office where they did a background check on me making sure I was a good person and that I really was what I was saying I was.  And also that I really was single.  They also took a picture of me there in the office to put on my profile so there would be an assurance (on every profile) of honest representation of what I currently looked like. 

You know, so there wouldn't be any surprises that the pictures posted were all from 10 years ago... oh, so you've changed quite a bit in 10 years, haven't you...

I like the precautions that they took.  They also did monthly outings for the members to meet and mingle in real life and not just online.  I only ever went to one activity.  And it was after I'd already met West.

So I signed up and started looking around at who else was a member and found I was extremely disappointed.  No one really caught my attention.  I chatted with a couple, went on a pity date or two (which didn't help how I felt about myself) and found a real a$$ hole who left me feeling overly grateful that I'd never actually made it on a date with him.

I was a part of other dating sites too.  I met a few guys, shut down a lot of perverts, and ended up in somewhat of a relationship with a Navy guy.  It was long distance though and only lasted a few months.  He ended up dumping me, very harshly I might add. 

After that "break up" I went back to my local singles profile.  I left work during my lunch period and headed to my dad's house to use his computer. I hadn't looked at it since I'd started "dating" Navy guy so there were two months of emails stacked up.  I started with the first one, which was the most recent, and started deleting.  No one was catching my interest and I was disheartened.  In two months of emails, not a single prospect.

Until I reached the very last email.  Which, of course was the very oldest, dating back to two months prior.  It was an introduction request from Matthew, which, if I clicked to accept it, would automatically swap our personal info with each other so we could make contact off the website.  I looked at his picture and I'm pretty sure I forgot to breathe for a minute. 

The man was gorgeous.

Gorgeous.

He'd written on the introduction request: "Hi :).  I've been wanting to say hi for awhile but didn't know what to say. -Matt"

I panicked.  Two months is a long time to have not heard back from me.  What if he was dating someone else by now?

I took my chances and hit the accept button.  And then I printed off his picture to show the girls at work.  My heart was racing and I was excited and nervous all at once.  After work I ventured a call to him but ended up having to leave a message.

And I waited.  Man a live, I was scared.  Why was I so scared?  I was still struggling with self esteem and finding it hard that this man would be interested in me.  There was also the thought that two months had passed since his email. 

He called me back and I was elated.  And nervous.  And I had a hard time thinking of what to say to him.  He wasn't dating anyone, to my relief, and we talked for a little bit.  He asked me if I'd like to go out with him that weekend.  I agreed and we hung up.  It was Tuesday night.  I would meet him on Friday.

Or so I thought.

At 4:00 the next day I received a text from him.  He claimed that he was supposed to be going out to a movie with a friend that night but his friend had to cancel.  He was stuck with an extra ticket.  Did I want to go?

I called on Brent-Dad to step in as a last minute babysitter, which he graciously did, and I accepted the offer.  I felt rushed and flushed.  I was working at Burt Brother's Tires and every day I left reeking of those tires (here).  I didn't have time to shower and I desperately did not want to be smelling like a tire company when I met this man for the first time.  I went home, changed into fresh clothes, fed The Circus, got them ready for bed and then began frantically spraying body spray into my hair, praying that it would be enough to get rid of the smell.  My dad showed up and I left.

I shared a phone call with my brother Nick before that date.  I told him about the claim of having an extra movie ticket.

"He's playing you.  He's making a move.  There's no extra ticket, he's making an excuse to go out with you."

"Nick, I'm very okay with that."  It was a flattering thought.

I got in my car and drove to the outside mall strip where I was to meet him for dinner and a movie.  How original, I know, but our plans for a real first date on Friday were better.  I viewed this as our pre first date. 

I blared Maroon 5 on my CD player as I drove and tried to talk the butterflies in my stomach away.  It didn't work.  I felt nauseous and light headed, I was so nervous.  Not only from meeting someone I was finding to be so attractive, but from the thought that he would find me lacking. I wasn't sure I could face that.

I pulled into the underground parking garage and parked my car.  I took a deep breath and mustered all the confidence I could as I walked out of the garage and onto the mall strip.  I was on an upper level and I sent him a text stating that I was there.  He replied with were he was, which happened to be right below me.  I was standing by the escalator and as I traveled down I glanced around and saw him.

He grinned at me with those amazing smile wrinkles.  I noted his pale blue eyes and his leather jacket and his tan. 

I found it extremely hard to look him in the face.

We entered a restaurant and he gave the name "West" which confused me, and I figured it to be his last name.  I struggled to come up with things to say through out dinner, but somehow the conversation flowed.  He had a great laugh.  After dinner we walked over to the theater.

Where he purchased the tickets.

Nick was right, there hadn't been a friend leaving him with an extra ticket.  I was still okay with the excuse to go out with me.  And I still couldn't look him in the face.

We sat in the theater watching "Jumper" but I was very aware of his presence.  He didn't make a move on me, and by the end of the movie we sat with our shoulders touching, but just barely.  I knew I wanted to see him again and felt reassured that we already had another date set.  We walked to the garage and found that we were parked on the same level.  He walked me to my car and hugged me.

On my drive home Navy guy called.  He ended up being upset that I was "already" going out with someone else.  To which I asked him what did he expect I was going to do?  Sit around and cry for him?  I had no doubt in my my mind that I would be seeing this Matthew again. 

Very soon.

Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

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happy birthday sam

1996

Sometimes you get lucky in life and you find those friends that will create a deep and everlasting bond with you.  The kind of bond that no matter how much time has gone by since you've seen them, you know they still love you and you pick up right where you left off.

Sam will forever be my brother in my heart.  We had our moments, Sam and I, where we were there for each other.  Figuring life out.  Figuring girls out. :)

He has a super cute wife now, I couldn't have picked a better wife for him had I done it myself.  It's no surprise that as I've gotten to know her it's almost like we were seperated at birth. 

One day I'll see Sam again, and meet his cute wife (my missing sister), but for now all I can do is send my cyber happy birthday out.

I hope it's a good one brother Sam.

shining mountains

Recently I told The Man that I was going to have a breadbox for our grandkids, the way my grandma had a breadbox.  I don't think it was necessarily for the grandkids specifically, I think it was for Grandpa and herself, but she certainly never turned us down when we wanted to get into it.  And it was always fully stocked. My grandma kept candy bars in her breadbox (just don't eat all of the Almond Joys, those are for Grandpa), and I fully intend to do the same.

I can't remember how this conversation started.  It might have been brought on by the recent funeral of West's grandma so we were swapping grandparent stories.  It got me to remembering...

I grew up next door to my grandparents.  Our backyard was one giant backyard, connected with theirs.  We had a swing set on our end, and they had a sandbox under an apple tree on their end.

I loved that apple tree.  Every summer in my childhood memory has that apple tree in it. 
It grew next to my grandparent's garage, and though we didn't make a habit of being on top of the garage, the times we did climb up there was by way of the apple tree.  I'm wondering with it really being so easy to get up there, why didn't we do it more?
We sat in the sandbox, digging, piling, burying toys, filling the box with water, all in the shade of the apple tree.  The only rule was not to get the sand on the grass, and since the explanation was given that the sand smothers and kills the grass, we were actually pretty good to watch out for that and kept the sand contained inside it's wooden frame.  I've learned from experiences like this in my childhood, that if I take the time to tell my kids why we have a certain rule, they'll be better to adhere to it, same as I was.  It wasn't just a silly way to control me, it made sense, it had logic.  We listened.
In my mind's eye I can still see the dapple shade on the sand, the rays of sun squeezing past in places. 

I remember Grandma, crazy hair standing straight up, standing on her front porch on Halloween night yelling "Merry Christmas" as she passed out candy. 

Or on a summer evening she would be out on her porch taking a picture of the Oquirrh Mountains.  She would tell me that "oquirrh" was an Indian word that meant "shining mountains."  She would click a few pictures and add, "And aren't they shining now?"
As a kid I would turn and look at the mountains.

Thanks to my sis in law Jess for taking this pic for me (she lives with my brother a street away from where we grew up)

And I would think in awe and wonderment, yes, yes they really do seem to shine.  And I thought the Indians were so clever to have named them shining mountains.

Until recently I discovered that the Goshute Indian word oquirrh actually means "wooded mountain"... now those Indians aren't so clever because it would seem they may have missed the times when the mountains shined.

But my grandma saw it.  And she taught it to me.

happy birthday billy!

Memory Lane: 2004 Quincy, Washington

I have a bunch of pictures from a long time ago that never got put into a scrapbook. 

You know, that hobby I used to have before I discovered blogging.

I don't want to lose these pictures so I'm going to start throwing them up here on the blog.  And I'll try to remember as well as I can stories or details that go with them. 

Just more that I want to keep recorded for my family.

I have the pictures sorted in sheet protectors, grouped into the pages that I wanted to create for my scrapbooks, so I just randomly grabbed a sheet protector out of the pile.  I found it fitting as it takes us back to Quincy (which I just wrote about a little bit here) so it's fun to be able to add some of my own pictures for that place. 

Not that these are great pictures or anything, they hardly do the countryside or farmland justice, but it shows our life there a little bit.

Let's go back to the year 2004.

Cas was 4, Brynn was 3, and Tay was a baby.  I think I took this picture because of how Brynn is swinging.  She refused to do it any other way for quite a long time.  That girl has always had her ideas on how she wants things and isn't about to sway from what she wants easily.  She'd push off the ground with her legs, pull them up, and just coast a long on her stomach until she needed to push off again.

The yard on the other side of the fence belong to my brother and sister-in-law (at the time) and the house in the background belonged to my brother-in-law's parents, who owned the farm.  These were my only neighbors and I loved them dearly.  It was nice to have them around when I got really lonely.

This was the time in my life when my girls wore pink cowboy hats with camo shirts, carhart pants, and waffle stompers. 

I'll be completely honest and say that I don't miss camo.

At all.

This picture was taken on the timer.  I have Tay in my stroller, Cas and Brynn have their baby dolls.  We're trekking out of the house to the mailbox.  It was about a 15 minute walk from our house down the "drive" to the mailbox which sat on the main road.  The main road was paved but nothing on the farm we lived on was. 

I actually didn't mind it. In this picture you can see all the old farm equipment laying around in pieces, but really, this was only a small part of the farm.  Our yard (as somewhat seen in the first pic) was full of green grass and was perfect for growing kids to run around on.  I've never had much of a green thumb, I kill every plant I've ever tried to keep, but this was farm country.  I was obsessed with ridding my grass of dandelions which resulted in the greenest, softest grass I've ever had in a yard.  I tried my hand at tomato plants and was harvesting them by the bushel.  I've not been able to grow a tomato since.

We ate eggs every day, collected from our own chickens.

I don't miss chickens. 

They stink.

Badly.

The one time we butchered a chicken I found I couldn't eat it.  It stayed in the freezer until I finally threw it out with freezer burn.

I'm better off thinking of my meat coming from the freezer section than from my yard.

A thought for today.  I saw it posted on facebook and loved it.  How true it is.