Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad

32 years!!!!!

Yes, my parents were married on Valentine's Day, which I always thought was very romantic - an entire holiday centered around them.

They had a whirlwind romance: He lived in California, she lived in Utah with her two daughters, (the youngest of which was particularly sweet) and they were set up on a blind "date" phone call. One phone call led to another and then another and then another. This was before free weekend minutes and unlimited long distance. It was a full-price long distance romance.

I hate that I don't know more specific details (help me out, family) about how it all came together, but the next thing we knew, they were getting married. And I really hate that I don't have one of their wedding pictures to put up - it was the 70's, so you know it's good.

But check them out now - don't they look amazing? And they are in love. It's the real deal, hand-holding, door opening, good-bye and hello kissing, I made you a cherry pie, I gassed up your car for you, let's take a walk together, flat-out adoring kind of love.

How cute are they?

Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad. Thanks for your example of a happy marriage, of care and concern, of respect and romance, and true, true love.

May we all be so lucky.

Jury Duty, Part I

After the drama of getting downtown for jury duty, I was relieved to have some time to just sit and let my heart get back to its normal rhythm. I had a good thirty minutes, so I settled into a bench in the courtroom, read my Reader's Digest, and waited to be sent home. The rest of the potential jurors eventually came in and we sat around not making eye contact. There were 30 of us. Coffee and Nutrigrain bars were on a table if we wanted.

Things got going a few minutes after 8:30: roll was taken and we got to watch a movie about not being upset if we weren't chosen for jury duty that day. Really. The movie was from 80's and the hairstyles and all the Sally Jesse Raphael glasses made it tolerable to watch if only for a chuckle.

After the movie, a baliff came in to watch over us. Unable to stand the quiet, he started telling jokes. Horrible, horrible jokes.

"What's the difference between out-laws and in-laws? Outlaws are wanted."

Ba dump bomp chhhhhh

"What lies on the bottom of the ocean and twitches? A nervous wreck."

Ba dump bomp chhhhhh

And the not quite politically correct,

"A guy marries a Chinese woman and for their honeymoon, she takes him to China to meet her family. He meets her Chinese parents, her Chinese brothers and sisters, and her Chinese grandparents. They don't like him and make them get a quickie Chinese divorce. Poor guy went home disoriented."

We all laughed uncomfortably - he had a gun.

Some lady came in and rescued us from the baliff's second act - we were sworn in and promised to answer truthfully all day long. We filled out some paperwork and then stood in line to receive our $18.50 for coming in. Next, we lined up in a specific order and made our way into another courtroom. Everyone was there - the judge, the prosecuting attorney (the state), a few police officers, the defense attorney and one very sad and remorseful looking woman (the defendant).

Time to pick the jury. The judge asked all these questions and we were supposed to answer by raising a hand. The two attorneys made notes of everyone's responses. If anyone raised their hand, they had to elaborate. It was like a public confession.

Judge: Do any of you belong to a religion that prohibits the use of alcohol? Do any of you drink? How much? Ever been impaired by your use of alcohol? Any family members drink? Who? Any alcoholism? Who? Have you ever seen a drunk person or spent any time with one? Any DUIs?

And on and on. Pretty sure it's a DUI case by this point. People were raising their hands, confessing everything about themselves, family and friends. Every once in a while the judge and the attorneys would take a person into a little room and ask more questions about their experience and knowledge of alcohol.

The judge had a final question: Is there anything about any of the people in the courtroom that might cause you to be unable to make a fair and impartial decision?

This was the question that made me pause.

It was the defense attorney. He wasn't just handsome, he was gorgeous - like a movie star. He had the highlighted hair, the perfect white teeth, the tan, the suit, and he kept smiling and making eye contact with everyone as he wrote his little notes. He was laid back and friendly, casual and charismatic, and he seemed to have the charm of Tom Cruise - before Tom got a little scary.

Since most of the questions didn't apply to me or anyone that I know, I spent a good part of this questioning time just gazing at him. Hmmmmm. Every time he looked at me, I was already looking at him and then he would smile his beautiful smile and I'd have to look away, embarassed.

So when the judge asked her question about making a fair and partial decision even though the Cutest Attorney In the World kept smiling at me, I wondered if I should raise my hand. I didn't, but only because I didn't want to have to go in the little room and admit to the judge that I had a crush on the defense attorney and would pretty much believe anything he told me.

Also, I had a tiny feeling that the Cutest Attorney In the World knows that he is the Cutest Attorney In the World. And that kind of ruined it. Almost.

So after all the questions and confessions, the judge and the two attorneys talked it over and came up with their four person jury. That's right, four people - out of thirty. And I was one of them. I should be playing the lottery.

We stood up and walked to the jury box. It was me, a grandma who worked for the Tablernacle Choir (this was two days after President Hinckley died - she coulda maybe gotten out of this), a 23 year old guy who was missing his classes at the community college and his wife's birthday, and an older woman with a gravelly-voice, bloodshot eyes, and possibly a hangover.

By now it was 11 am. The 26 who were not chosen were excused. They patted the $18.50 in their pockets as they walked out the doors and back to their lives. They didn't feel badly about not being chosen - the movie had helped, I'm sure.

I, on the other hand, was feeling something along the lines of
"You have GOT to be kidding me."

Jury duty.

For real.

This is what clean livin' will get you.

(To be continued...)

Notes of Note. A Post in Two Parts

Part I:
The Note From School, or,
Loosening My Bra As My Heart Swells With Pride

First of all, thank you for all your kind words of support and encouragement about Cam's science fair project. He took it to school yesterday and sat by it for an hour or two, answering questions from the judges and visiting parents. He was proud of his project and did a good job all around.

Today he brought this note home:

And this:
Pretty cool. Cameron was worried that he'd have to do another whole project. I assured him that if that was the case, he would politely decline the invitation. There is a bunch of paperwork to fill out though - almost a mini written report. And if he goes on to the state fair, we have to pay an entrance fee. For now, I think we'll just relax and enjoy being off track.



*******************************************************

Part II:
The Note That Came Out of the Dryer, or

If It's Love, Why Does It Hurt So Much?

Okay, I might be crossing a line. Sure I can post the pictures of Troy getting his eyebrows waxed, and me getting my colonoscopy, but this is almost too personal.


Last night, after I had tucked the boys in bed, I went to change the laundry over to the dryer. I pulled the dry clothes out and a tightly folded, still slightly damp note fell onto the floor.


You all told me about what you've pulled out of the dryer - the ipods, the gum, the dead hamster and the poop. But a note? You read it, right?

I did.

It was fragile from its trip through the washer and dryer but I carefully unfolded it and read the pencil writing.


Cam had written it, but never delivered it. It said:

"To Aspen, I like you. (smiley face)...But you like Will. Abby told me you hate me and never want to talk to me again. (frowny face)


I raced downstairs to show the note to Troy. He was as shocked as I was. There was romantic drama going on? We never knew. And what a love triangle it seems to be - Cam, Aspen, Will, and Abby - though so far, Abby is only the passer of information. Who is this Aspen girl...and why is she breaking my son's heart?


I went to ask Cam about it. He denied knowing what I was talking about, but that might have been because I woke him up. I asked him who everyone was and he tried to tell me what had happened. Even through his explanation I could tell that he wasn't even sure what was going on.


"Are you sad?" I was prepared to grieve with him.


"Not really."

"But you drew a frowny face! That means you're sad!"

"Then I guess I was."

"Why didn't you deliver it?" Hand me a bigger spoon, I'm stirring it up really good now.

"I changed my mind."

"Okay sweetheart. Probably better that way. Do you want to talk about it? Do you need a hug?"

"Mom, I'd kinda forgotten all about it."

"Oh...okay...but if you need a shoulder..."

"Goodnight!"

********************************************************

Two very different notes, but they both amaze me.

I just have to ask...


Did you ever pass notes in school?

A Few Things From Christmas

So...how was your Christmas? Was every wish fulfilled, every goodie eaten, every magical fantasy brought to life in a flurry of wrapping paper and bows? Or did you have a nasty case of Christmas Letdown that resulted in actual tears like my almost 11 year old? More on that tomorrow.

Aside from that, we had a lovely day. I had made cinnamon rolls the day before, so all I had to do in the morning was take them out of the fridge, let them rise while we opened presents, and then bake. Voila - Christmas Breakfast.

On Saturday, I had made a gigantic lasagna in my 10x15 Pyrex dish - big enough for us to eat over the course of many days. This was my best idea ever. I had french bread to make garlic toast and then any time we were hungry (and needed a break from the goodies), we just microwaved some lasagna and broiled some bread. Voila - Christmas Lunch.

I also had the foresight to do a big roast and veggies for Christmas dinner. My whole mindset for the day was to not have to spend a lot of time in the kitchen. I put the meat, potatoes, carrots and onions in the crockpot around 10 am, and then sat back to enjoy my day. Voila - Christmas Dinner.

The only drawback to my stay-out-of-the-kitchen-on-Christmas strategy, was that I really did stay out of the kitchen, except to serve up plates it seemed. And with me out of the kitchen, well, the dishes just didn't get done. I walked into the kitchen this morning and saw with clarity, the flaw in the plan. We did in fact use plates, silverware, glasses, 9x13 pans, 10x15 pans, cookie sheets, serving spoons and cutting boards, and one very large crock pot, bearing the evidence that our roast was not the leanest cut of meat. Tasty, but not so lean.

Voila - Day After Christmas Dishes.

I'm on my second dishwasher load and working on the by-hand dishes.

Note to self: Next year, use paper plates, etc., aluminum foil baking pans...or just suck it up and do the dishes. Remember the huge lasagna though - that part was brilliant.

********************************************************

I received some wonderful gifts - a new flat iron for my hair, a blender, a new cutting board and a higher quality knife than I've ever owned, to name a few. Yes, I asked for these things - and I love them. I'm a homemaker and I need good tools. And my hair needed a new flat iron.

But the real surprise came from Troy. He gave me my ring again.

A little over a year ago, I was sitting in church and happened to look down at my hand. The center diamond on my engagement ring was gone. The prongs were all still in place, but the stone just wasn't there anymore. I was so sad.

I loved this ring. The diamond itself was tiny - smaller than the prongs that held it. I remember choosing the ring with Troy, when I was 19 and he was 21, and having the clerk explain that the prongs were white gold which would make the diamond look bigger. I never cared that it was small - I loved it. It was delicate and feminine and I thought it looked perfect on my small hands. And now it was unwearable.

I put the ring away in a tiny cardboard box that one of the boys had given me and buried it down in my underwear drawer. For a while I didn't wear any ring, and then I started buying these fabulous fakes from http://www.eleganzajewels.com/. Flashy and huge, they were inexpensive enough to own several, and I did. But eventually some of the plating wore off, and they became unwearable too. I think they had a guarantee, but I never went to the trouble of sending them back. For the last few months I've worn nothing on my ring finger.

Until yesterday. Troy, in a complete act of pure romance, gave me my original ring back. He'd dug through my underwear drawer and found the little box with the rings, still unsoldered after 19 years of marriage, and took them to a jewelers on the Saturday before Christmas. He chose a diamond - a little bit bigger this time - and had it placed in new white gold prongs. They soldered the engagement and wedding rings together, and polished it up like new.

When I saw the box, I was worried about what it might hold. Troy is notorious for going overboard and spending money that we haven't earned yet. I shook my head and protested that we were going to think about me getting a new ring around our twentieth anniversary. Not now...not with the new truck...not with the new dog...not with all the other Christmas expenses...I don't need it...blah, blah, blah.

"Just open it." he said, "You'll like it."

The boys were watching me, Troy was watching me. I prepared to gush and oooh and aaahh, and then find a way to return it - sensible girl that I am. I don't need...

And then I saw it. Polished and glittering, delicate and feminine.

"It's...it's my ring! You got my ring!"

And then I cried. And hugged him. And kissed him. And put it on.

I can't stop staring at it. It is the perfect ring for my hand, for me. That's true love, right there.

I gave him floor mats for his truck.

****************************************************

We weren't the only ones enjoying a new puppy for Christmas. Both are still waiting for their names, but you can see them here and here. Puppy love all around.

****************************************************

And in Oliver news...well, he's just the sweetest thing!

He's still sleeping a lot, and we find ourselves carrying him around like a baby. It's taken him a few days to learn to walk on the slick kitchen floor, and now he bounds across it like a bunny. At least until his feet fly out from under him.

It's been so fun to introduce him to our friends and family.

This is my niece, Olivia. I predict that they will be good friends.

He spends a good amount of time crashed in his pad.

And he's starting to play with and chew on his toys.

Sometimes though...it's just so hard to get out of bed!

Alright, enough of this furry, cuddly, wonderful nonsense. I've got a few more dishes to do.

How was your Christmas?

You Take the Good, You Take the Bad, You Take Them Both and There You Have, The Facts of Life...The Facts of Life

Somehow we managed without Blair, Jo, Tootie, and Natalie. Mrs. Garrett might have come in handy though - she was one smart lady.

Over the past few weeks, and after several conversations with different people, I've had the overwhelming feeling that it was time to discuss a certain matter with Cameron.

It's time for that talk. The big one. Bigger than Santa. Bigger than the basic shower and wear deodorant every day sort of discussion. I'm talkin' straight up, Birds 'n Bees, how it happens, when it happens, why it happens and what all the parts look like.

He's turning 11 next month and I know that the school will be having Maturation Day for the 5th graders in the spring. He needs to know. He just does. He's remained (I think) very sheltered as far as what he knows about the subject, but it's only a matter of time before he starts hearing things and I just want to make sure his information is correct.

He did not want to have this talk. We tried about a year ago, asking him if he had any questions about where babies come from, or how babies are made. He started crying and asked us, "why are you talking to me like I'm an adult?"

Okay, so he wasn't exactly ready then. But that comment did tell me that he knew enough to not want to talk about it with us. We backed off.

But now, I've been feeling like it really needed to be done. The feelings have been strong enough and persistent enough that I'm calling it Mother's Intuition. Embarrassed or not, he was going to learn the Facts of Life.

I was probably 8 years old when I got the facts. My Mom was pregnant with my younger brother, so I'm sure my parents figured it was time to answer the obvious question - though I don't remember asking.

They had a book titled How Babies are Made, and I sat on the couch between my Mom and my Dad and read it out loud to them. Oh yes. The book covered the very basics, from the individual parts that the man and woman are bringing to the table, er, the bed, to conception and growing womb, ending with a blanket wrapped baby. The artwork looked like pieces of felt cut into very basic shapes - not a lot of detail. But it is etched into my brain, forever. Reading a book like that out loud to your parents will do that to you.


Time to do a little etching on Cam's brain.

I hit the library, confident that a book was still the way to go - though I would do the reading.

I found one by the expert herself,

but it was for very young children. And it didn't cover enough of the stuff he'd hear at Maturation Day.

This one was excellent - though just a touch too much information for our very first talk. It was mostly text, geared to young teens, and I'd definitely get this for him to read on his own in a few years. It was written to include morals and staying chaste, and waiting for marriage - almost with a little bit of guilt and threats at the end. Not completely the LDS angle, but close enough when paired with For The Strength of Youth.

The book I ended up using was this light-hearted, pragmatic (thanks, Sarah !) picture book by the guy who does the Arthur books. It covered all the subjects that I wanted it to, and the illustrations were appropriate. As we looked at all the drawings of the pieces and parts, I wondered if Marc Brown really just wanted to go back to drawing Arthur and his good friend, Buster.

I used this book as kind of a cross reference - something to back up the information, in a "see, this is that same stuff again" kind of a way. The Bird and the Bee became a little irritating after a while, but probably only to me.

Cameron knew that I had gotten the books from the library and that I was planning on having the talk. He protested, insisting that the only thing kids talk about at school is football, and he did NOT need to know about this. I gave him the option of having Troy read the books with him, and he tried to hide a smirk as he agreed to me.

I called him to the couch, and he ran to his room to get a blanket to wrap up in. It wasn't cold, he just needed a full body embarrassment shield. See, he can't tell me he doesn't know something. He flopped down on the couch, looking like a Muslim woman in full burqa gear. Only his eyes were visible under the deep hood of the blanket. We plowed ahead.

I read and pointed out specifics on the drawings, tracing pathways, and asking if he any questions along the way. He did not. He stayed covered for the most part. I asked if he wanted to keep the books for a while longer, maybe read them by himself, but he was positive that he knew all he wanted to know. Could he just go back to the computer and being a kid again?

Siiiiiiigh. I think it went well.

He did make two comments that made me laugh. First, I had told him that one of the reasons we were having this talk was because of Maturation Day - that I didn't want him to be surprised at school. Then one time, in the book, the word master**tion (just being careful of the ads) came up. He asked at the end,

"So at school, on Master**tion Day, it will just be like a review, right."

MaTURAtion Day, Cam. MaTURAtion Day.

The other funny thing was when we were talking about body changes and the hair that will grow on various parts, including his face. He nodded and said that a kid in his class already has a pretty big mustache. I wasn't surprised - some of these kids are big! Then he said that the kid is a girl! Oh no!!! I told him to be extra nice to her, that she's got some tough years ahead of her.

So anyway, he knows. First Santa, and now this. Good grief.

I need a Diet Coke.

At least he still kisses me good night and gives me hugs whenever I ask. I'm just going to keep on pretending that he's my little boy..who knows stuff.

How did you learn the Facts?

How have you taught the Facts?

We Dressed Up Too

It was store-bought, but creative nonetheless.

Actually, this couples costume made me laugh. Tee Hee. And Hehehehe.

We are a perfect fit. Okay, I could be a little taller.

Can't you just feel the electricity between us?

Sock-It to me, Baby.

Romance, Schmomance...or Why I'm Not a Character in a Harlequin Novel

I got an email this morning from a young woman in my ward, asking me to answer a question for an essay that she was writing for school. The class was Marriage and Family, and the question was about romance. I needed to tell about the most romantic event in my life and explain why it was so romantic. Huh? Romance? Oh, dear, now where did I put that romance...?

Seriously, I think I'm romantically challenged. Don't get me wrong - Troy is not the problem - if anything, he is the more romantic of the two of us. I wrote about all the cards and the love letter or two that I found when I was cleaning out my underwear drawer. Troy loves to give cards that ooze with passion and romance, penned by the very best card makers at Hallmark. He always adds his own sentiment.

Cards like this:

With things like this, written on the inside:

Aaaaawwww.... I am loved. I really, really am, and I know that Troy spends a lot of time looking for these perfect cards. Imagine me holding my thumb and forefinger up, about 3 1/2 inches apart, when I say that I have a stack of cards like this, this high.

Last Valentine's Day, I very kindly told Troy that while I loved his cards and the beautiful words, how about if he looked for a funny card instead. Ungrateful, undeserving, picky woman? Probably...but this woman also knows the romantic value of a good laugh.

Laugh with me, show me that twinkle in your eyes, kiss me until the boys squeal and pull you away from me, give me a wink. Now I'm feeling romantic.

What else holds romantic value for me? This sign in my kitchen says it all:

Now ain't that the truth? Seriously, I feel loved when Troy pitches in around the house. Which he does do, fairly often.

I feel loved when Troy watches Dancing with the Stars with me and rubs my feet. He never complains - about the show or about my feet.

I feel loved when Troy stops whatever he might be doing to go get me something...Cafe Rio, for instance. That whole "my wish is his command" kind of thing.

I feel a rush of love for Troy when we go out with friends and we have a really good time. I like seeing him enjoy himself.

I love Troy when he spends time with the boys. He's a really good Dad.

I love Troy when he rushes to my side after a really scary car accident. Or a colonoscopy.

I know that Troy loves me because he puts up with me, and I put up with him.

Is this romance? Or are we pathetic? Is loving and being loved the same thing as romance? When you think of "romance", shouldn't it be about flowers and love notes, and petals on the bed, sipping Martinelli's and feeding each other chocolates, whispering sweet words and hearts skipping a beat as the passion envelopes the room?

I think the years and the ins and outs of regular old life have taken their toll.

When Troy brings me flowers, I cringe at the cost, the love notes sit in my underwear drawer, we have laundry, waiting to be folded, on the bed, our fancy glasses are broken, I don't share my chocolate, and sometimes, foul smells envelope the room.

But we have love. And we laugh. Does this count as romance?

What do I tell this young woman, wanting to know of my most romantic event?

"Well, this one time, I came home from doing the grocery shopping, and Troy had done the dishes and switched over the laundry! That's when I knew it was true love."

I think I'd better make up something about our first kiss. I know it was romantic - it had to be...I just don't remember very much about it.

What about you?

Do you have romance in your life?

What makes your heart skip a beat?

A Little Manscaping

For the past few years, our family has been going to see Michelle for all our haircutting needs. She also does my coloring. She is fabulous, fun to talk to, and does an awesome job. I'm so glad we found her. The other day, I tagged along with Troy when he went over for a haircut.

This is how it went down:

Why did you bring the camera?

Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

Once Michelle took care of that hair...

We needed to address these.
Hello Eyebrows.

First, the area is cleaned with alcohol.

Smear on the wax.

Press the paper strip down.
1...2...

3.

Just a little, out of the middle.

The left eye is next.

Is this cool or what?

Now the right eyebrow.

Did you know that the right eyebrow always has more hair?

It's true.

And a tiny bit off the top.

There. Doesn't that look better?

There may be a little redness for a while.

Michelle said that she loves waxing eyebrows.

And I love watching it.

By the next day, he's all better. And he looks soooo good.
Makes me wanna get this close.

Zac, Drugs, & Some Mid 90's Rock-n-Roll

Today was the colonoscopy. Troy and I both woke up early, laid in bed and let our thoughts wander through the upcoming day.

"Whatcha thinking about?" he asked, scratching my back. He knows I love having my back scratched - second only to having my feet tickled and rubbed. This morning though, my feet are clear down there and my back is much closer.

He's being sweet, wondering where my thoughts are going. Am I worried about what the scope will find? Am I nervous? How's my foot? Do I feel okay? Do I want a blessing?

"Cafe Rio. I want Cafe Rio afterwards."

That's what I woke up thinking about. Sure, I had to go to the hospital and have a scope up my hiney, but it the end (HA!) it's still about the food.

At 8am, I had to do another three doses of the laxative to finish prepping. That curbed my hunger - but left me feeling a little weak. By the time we got to the hospital, I was feeling kind of punchy - like when your brain is sleep deprived. Mine was food deprived.

We went into the waiting room and you'll never believe who was there...

Zac Efron!!! I have the BIGGEST CRUSH on him.

I can't even tell you how thrilled I was to have him there.

Into the gown and waiting. Zac came with me. He's supportive like that.

Can we take this magazine home? He makes me happy.

My nurse Annie gave me the absolute best IV I have ever had.

I thought she was just drawing blood, it hurt so little.



I have to watch.




This is Chris, the technician. He's much nicer than he looks - he was just wondering why Troy was taking his picture.

See that long, black thing hanging there? That's the scope.




And this is Doctor P. He's super nice, funny, and totally down with the blog thing.
He even had a few things to say:


"Tell everyone to make sure they have a doctor who will do a thorough scope. A little two minute look isn't good enough. This is important, so have it done right."


and


"Tell them that Hootie and the Blowfish was playing when we started."

He just wanted you to know.

Annie then pushed a syringe into my IV with the most magical of drug combos: Fentanyl and Versed. Dr. P. told me to roll over on my left side and then I swear he clapped his hands together and said something to Annie like "Let's do this!", as he kind of moved to the music. I was floating...floating (I love that feeling!)...and gone. I felt nothing, I remember nothing.

The whole thing took about 35 minutes.

Sweet, sweet drugs.

Oh, it's over?

Can't.........wake........

uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu. p.

I don't remember taking the gown off.

I'm thinking of something good...maybe my Cafe Rio pork salad?

Nope. I just wanted Zac back in my arms.

Tell me he isn't the cutest boy you've ever seen.

Oh, and this is the one polyp that Dr. P. found. He cut that bad boy outta there and sent it to the lab. He says not to worry.

We headed home and I napped for the rest of the afternoon. When I woke up...

Okay...THIS is the cutest MAN I've ever seen.

He is the one who really makes me happy.

It's true love.

Birthday Wishes

Happy Birthday, to my sweetheart, Troy. I am thankful for you every day.

I love you for being such a hard worker. You are so responsible and respected by the people

you work for.

I love you for honoring your priesthood

and being a good example to our sons.

I love you for making me laugh

again...

and again.

I love you for making our family your first priority.

And I love you because you love me!


You mean the world to me.

All my love,

Wendy