Tag Archives: marriage

The Bearded Lady

I stepped out of the shower this morning and began to towell off. “Eek!” I cried as I looked down, “I have a hairy chest!” Then as my horror mounted I realized I had sprouted a beard as well! With abhorrence I cast the offender away and plunged back into the shower. After I was dehaired and dressed I went in search of my husband.

“Darling,” I asked in a venom sweet voice, “did you by chance use my towell last night when cutting your hair?”

Paul looked at me shocked as I explained my unexpected hairy chest and beard. “I used the green towell!” He said. (Mine was purple)

“Umm, my hair is not short and black, dear.”

“Oh, no! I did use it when my hair was too wet and not cutting well.”

“Uhuh,” I said, “now I know what the bearded lady felt like.”

Ladies, beware of hubbies who cut their own hair.

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Re-Evaluation . . . Hmmmm . . . .

I think I need to stop blogging. Yup. I think it is a great hazard to my health. Why just this week alone I was thinking to myself, “Self nothing much has happened lately to blog about that would be really funny, adventurous, or exciting.” And then what do you suppose would happen? I take a flying leap over a fence, and not a graceful one mind you. At least afterwards I thought, “Well, self there you have it, a truly entertaining story to tell.”

I was fine with that really. I fun story to tell, but truly that is enough. Maybe it was revenge for laughing at that dog, or maybe, just maybe, I am truly the klutz I have always known myself to be. Yup, friends, goofy has struck again. She has not left the building, but is simply lurking in the dark shadows of the laundry room. Well, actually she made it out of the laundry room, within an inch of her life I might add, and is sitting (well perching would be more correct as the sitting aparatus is not too functional at the moment) at her computer. What happened? you might ask. Well, I shall tell you. . . .

Today was wash all the bed linnens and kid’s blankets laundry day. I started early and was just finishing off the last of the loads just in time for bed. We got the kids all snuggled in to their dryer sheet fresh beds and I went to fetch our linens so the bed would be ready for us when we chose to stagger into bed at some insane hour of the night. I was trying to be a sweet helpful wife as my husband hurled pillow after pillow at me, and tickled me insanely. He ran out of pillows and began to pick up the garbage bags of goodwill clothes and began to hurl those at me, complete with bombing sound effects. It was quite hillarious until I lost my ballance, (which, trust me, isn’t hard to do when being hit by a 2 ton garbage sack, heh) crashed into the stool behind me and fell on my right knee (which you remember had been previously damaged earlier this week), but hey it was only one knee, and not both. After feigning death and other such ailments to spark that grain of guilt in my hubby, I hopped up and finished making the bed. When I handed the pillows (ok, so I threw them at him, heh) to my HHH I noticed that I was short a pillowcase.

So I ventured out into the deep dark menacing recesses of the laundery room. The laundery room is located on the far side of the garage and trust me when I say there is an honest to goodness obstacle course which one must pass through in order to get there. Climbing over, darting around, ducking under, you name it, you have to do it to manuever through this place. I executed the course with ease and upon searching the confines of the room I found no missing pillow slip. I grabbed the empty hamper and headed inside.

Ahh, that I could say I handled the course with ease. Honestly I don’t know how it happened, they do say that after traumatic experiences one can suffer some memory loss . . . but what I believe happened is this:

While stepping over a small box, I was stepping around a large box, while my foot in front, as it was coming down, was trying to miss the medium box and the hamper was whacking the leg in back trying desperately to upset my delicate position. Well, it succeeded, and for the second time in one week I found myself hurling through the air with the greatest of ease and comeing down, crashing to my knees! Well, my left knee anyway. Which looks very pretty, swollen, purple, you get the idea. And I don’t quite know how I managed it but as I fell I somehow turned and bashed the back upper part of my thigh against a food storage bucket (which is the reason I am perching rather than sitting). It blossomed into the most interesting array of colors I have yet to personally witness on a human body. I let out a resounding yell which brought my HHH running, much to my changrin, who couldn’t figure out quite what to do other than laugh. But that was ok, because I was laughing trying to figure out whether to crawl, which hurt my knee terribly, or to walk, which hurt my thigh. Oh, and to add insult to injury what do you suppose I would find on my staggering return back to the bedroom? That’s right, the pillow case. And where do you suppose I found said pillow case? Right again! Resting peacefully beneath one of the bags of clothes that my hubby was hurling at me. heh. 🙂 How’s that for poetic justice?

So, you see, blogging is becoming hazardous to my health and if I keep it up much longer I might have plenty to blog about, but nothing to blog with (or sit with anyway, heh) 🙂 Well, my sitting aparatus has just plumb wore out, so I am off to stagger to bed. Night all! 🙂 (at least my bed is all made, yummy smelling, clean and cozy! hee hee)

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Love and Marriage

I found this on Sariah in Vancouver’s blog and thought it would be fun, especially since I just celebrated my anniversary with my HHH (Handsome Huggable Hubby).

Love- Tell us about your first love/crush. No, you don’t have to name names, but why that person?

I don’t remember the first person I had a crush on, but I remember the first person who had a crush on me. I was in 3rd grade. He was in 5th grade. Why he ever liked me I shall never know. But he did get a first grader to kiss me on the bus after school. Boy was I ever mad (remember I was a tomboy and boys are gross). If I remember the story correctly I decked the 5th grader and scowled menacingly at the 1st grader.

Though I do remember this kid in highschool that played soccer. I had a crush on him. He had great legs, but it was his eyes and smile that got me. He had one of those slow smiles that started out very thin but then grew and blossomed until it took over his entire face, not a hostile take-over, just peaceful negotiations. And his eyes. He had these steel grey eyes, like a stormy day at the beach. He was a nice guy too, played trumpet in band, and was respectful to others, especially girls and that was a good thing.

and Marriage- Are you married or in a serious relationship? For how long? If not, do you want to get married or be in a serious relationship someday, or are you happy with your single status? Well you all know that I am married and have been for 8 years, and I won’t bore you with the sordid details two times in one week . . .so if you are curious or have forgotten you may want to seek medical attention, an dif that fails read my Love Story post again. heh 🙂Go together like a horse and carriage- What’s the most romantic thing you done, had someone do for you, or seen done?

Well, let me start off by saying that it is not cow tipping! hee hee. Now, having cleared that up, I find a lot of little things romantic. I love it when my HHH dances with me in the kitchen while I am trying to make dinner. Or when we leave each other notes on our little message mirror. Often we sit up late at night sipping on sparkling cider and playing board and card games, laughing with each other. Those silly little traditions that just happen, such as switchbacks. When Paul and I were hiking one day, the trail was steep and windy with constant switchbacks. Everytime we hit a switchback it meant that the person in fron had to switchback and kiss the person behind. We always look forward to those now when we go on hikes. Or gazing out across a sunset on the ocean with our arms wrapped around each other and walks on the beach. *sigh* To me it is all heavenly bliss . . . . mooooo. 🙂

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Filed under Love and Marriage, Meme

A Love Story

I noticed him on the first day of my second semester. He was just starting his college experience; I was winding down to the end. There were several new members in our symphonic band, 3 of which were French horn players. There was just something about him that caught my eye. I think it was the goofy grin that never quite left his face.

A few weeks into the semester I landed myself on crutches, don’t ask, it’s too embarrassing to tell. It was January, in Rexburg, Idaho, and I had to try my hand at maintaining my balance on a couple of skinny sticks with hardly any traction. Heh. While I am sure I displayed many comic routines as I skidded, flopped, and flew to class, it was also the blame for why I got to know my future hubby so well.

I swung into the music building and turned the corner to the locker room. I was already running a bit late as I tried to keep balanced and yank my horn out of its tiny little space. I had developed the art of holding onto the handrest of my crutches with my thumb so the rest of my fingers could wrap around the handle of my French horn case. The only problem was that the horn would swing and bash into my crutch threatening to take it out completely. After the weeks I had spent on crutches my senior year in high school (due to the toe vs. lawnmower incident) I had become quite proficient at crutch wielding and I was at least able to maintain a certain aspect of dignity, even if I was lying on the ground, heh. By the time I finally managed to bash my way into the concert hall where we held our daily practice our conductor had started warm-ups and I found myself the humiliated center of attention as I proceeded to make my painful way to my seat, tried to balance as I extricated my horn, and then figure out what to do with my crutches.

After practice was over and I was making my way back to the locker room I felt a strong hand wrap itself around my horn and gently take it from me. Surprised I looked up to see him, with that goofy grin on his face. From that point on, he always carried my horn for me. And, me, being the sweet, genteel, demure, creature that I am followed behind, swinging on my crutches, kicking him (not hard of course) in the rear all the way.

He would also perform this routine for me on Tuesday evenings as I went to horn lessons (we had our lessons within 30 minutes of each other) and our group sectional on the same evening. I soon discovered that he spent quite a lot of time there on Tuesdays and I began to purposely arrive there earlier and earlier hoping to see more of him. The thing I did not discover until quite some time later was that he was doing the same thing.

The weeks passed and I finally ditched the crutches in March, but by now he was in the habit of carrying my French horn and our tradition continued as we talked our way into class. One fateful Tuesday evening our group had gotten to talking and it was entering into the hours of twilight as I headed out of the music building when I heard someone jog up behind me. The goofy grin asked if he could drive me home, after all he hadn’t had a chance to talk to his friend (my roommate) in a while. I accepted and off we went.

All our rooms were upstairs in the apartment and that’s where I had gone to change, while he talked with my five roommates. I didn’t know it, but they were talking about me. He was perusing our kitchen and had asked which was my cupboard. They told him and much to his surprise all he found when he opened it were 3 boxes of “yellow death” (mac and cheese) and 5 potatoes. See, I was a poor starving college student. My parents were very helpful, but I was too proud to try and tell them that the $80 they had sent to get me through the rest of the school year just wasn’t going to cut it, so I was squeaking by on my meager budget. Paul was horrified, but knew that I wouldn’t accept help from him so he devised a sneaky plan. He invited me out to dinner.

But don’t get the wrong idea here, it wasn’t a date. Never a date! He simply stated that he had extra money on his food card that he didn’t want to waste and so we went out to the campus restaurant. Our first such dinner we ate spaghetti and ended up talking for 2 hours. My roommates were anxious and upset that I wasn’t home when I usually was until they found out I was with him. Then the teasing began, but I denied it all quickly, after all he had the same name as my brother and that would just be too weird! 🙂 Well, to make a long story short, he kept feeding me, and my sources tell me he kept checking my cupboard too, and it wasn’t too long before we were dating. I left to serve my mission and we were engaged shortly after I returned home. Eight years ago today we were married in the Portland Oregon Temple. These have been the happiest eight years ever, and I look forward to another happy 80. (ooh, and he still has that goofy grin, which I love so, so, much!) 🙂

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Filed under Love and Marriage, Youth

Mirror

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This is the first photo that I have posted that I haven’t taken, but I couldn’t resist. Especially because my husband and I will be celebrating our 8th anniversary this coming week.

Oh, you’ll notice in the far right corner a little boy headed our way. That is my nephew, he decided it would be fun to go wading in the reflection pool. He was finally noticed as he perched upon a step beside us. Luckily we caught him before he got more than his feet wet! 🙂

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Surface

Weekly Anamnesis #21

I’m a day late on the deadline to this one . . .

I don’t know when I developped the knack for it. I do know that as a child and a tomboy I decided that crying was for wimps and I began to bury emotions beneath the surface. Most of my memories of childhood are happy, rosey golden ones. I know that my childhood wasn’t perfect, but it was far better than most of my friends and I loved my childhood. I burried sad memories with my desire to cry. (I don’t mind the burrying of sad memories, I think it is important to move on, but along with some of those memories I burried the ability to show more emotion than just happiness.) Maybe I had experienced just enough hurt to not want to face it, maybe I was trying to be tough, I’ll never really know. I remember in college wishing that I could “feel ” more and I worked on it some. But it hurt – a lot. So I reburried emotion and continued on my life. But, once you excavate something and try to reburry it, often you don’t do as good as a job. My feelings were a little easier to tap into, a little easier access. I started showing more than one feeling without my even knowing it. (I was the always with a smile on her face girl.)

Paul was the one who taught me how to cry, really cry and to really feel. I remember after my Grammy died and I couldn’t go to her funeral that I was trying to assure him that I was fine, everything was fine. He looked at me odd and knew what my true feelings below the surface were, but I couldn’t cry or show my emotion in front of people, even him, and tears slipped quietly down my face while we were sleeping. He knew.

I have since become a watering pot, or at least I feel like it sometimes, with him. I still work on not burying all my emotions below the surface, but I still have a hard time letting hurt and pain and fear show. Though sometimes, I wish I could have the always happy girl back, but that just doesn’t work in parenthood. heh 🙂

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Of Water and Pipes and Such

The building was built in 1910 with narrow dimly lit hallways. The carpet was dark green and new and the walls had a fresh coat of paint. The plumbing was original to the building and the elevator was original as well, though put in later than 1910 I believe. It was an old elevator where you haul the heavy door open and slide the heavy metal screen to the side. It would jerk and shimmy all the way up or down. Every time I set foot in that elevator I wanted to break into dance like in the movie, “thoroughly Modern Millie.” It was located in downtown Portland two blocks away from the university with a funky little love shop in the basement, which I think is a cafe now. It was the first apartment complex we managed and Elizabeth was a baby. We had one of the larger two bedroom apartments which was still tiny. The closets were abnormally large and one was converted into the baby’s bedroom. The main room was hardwood and the kitchen barely had enough room to stand in. We couldn’t even cook a full size pizza in the oven and never could get the fridge open all the way. We would send Elizabeth to my mother’s while we scraped the paint, not knowing if it was lead based or not. That building held a lot of adventure. Great friends, druggies, fights, and water problems. Paul learned a lot about water problems in the six months we were there.

We had been at our new apartment complex for over 5 months now and were getting ready for baby number two. The apartments had been sold to a new owner and things were not going well. This complex had water issues too, but not quite as bad. We desperately needed a new water faucet in our bathroom sink and after pleading with the maintenance man (my hubby) my wish was granted.

I planted myself, and my oversized tummy, on the floor and chatted with Paul as he worked. I was uncomfortable, 8 1/2 months pregnant, and felt like I had a giant oversized beach ball shoved under my shirt. Paul was nearly done, tightening down the last little bit when the water shutoff snapped. A jet of water propelled itself into his chest slamming him against the door and making me jump. He battle the stream back and held the water at bay with his hand.

“I need to you to go shut off the water. It is out in front of the first building, down in the ground,” he tells me.

So off I scamper (? yeah, uh huh, hee hee) through the parking lot, barefoot and pregnant at the fastest waddle-run I can manage. Oh, it was pouring down rain too. I get to the shutoff and it really was down in the ground. The cover was easy enough to move but then a problem arose. How do I get around my beach ball to get all the way down into the ground to turn the water off? I’m not quite sure how I managed it, I just know I must provided an interesting sight: hugely pregnant woman with butt in air (that’s for you Fourth Frett – hee hee) and my arm disappearing into the mud and muck.

We got the problem fixed and we moved a month later, on the same day that Dot was born . . .

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Happy Valentine’s Day

Passion
(dedicated to my hubby)

How does one describe
Emotions of the heart?
Words, insipid, fail to capture
The ardor with which I love.

Nor can it be painted with
The finest brush in hand.
Colors dull with time,
So opposite my passion.

What resemblance to
Nature could I possibly compose?
The most majestic mountain or
Delicate rose sallow in comparison.

As time erodes the most formidable citadel
Devotion, secured in the
Fortress of my heart,
Will crescendo through enternity.

-J.H. Schmidt

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Filed under Love and Marriage, Poetry, Writing

Olypmic Opening Ceremony

I am a huge olympics fan and settled down with my hubby to watch the opening ceremony. At one time we started laughing because we saw them bring cows onto the floor (fake cows) and then we saw them. The dancers. I have now found the perfect outfit for Paul. A cow tux!! The pants were black and the jacket was white with cow spots! It was so awesome, we wear laughing so hard. Paul told me if he had to wear the tux I had to wear the dress. The gal was wearing a white dress with cow spots all over it. Who ever thought we’d be kowtowed (hee hee) during the olympics!! 🙂

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Filed under Humor, Love and Marriage

A First

Darkness was still folded around me when my alarm clock wrenched me from my much coveted sleep. I groaned as I stumbled out of bed, 6:00 on a Saturday morning! My hubby and I had 30 minutes to get ready before she would pick us up. I looked at him and asked, “Remind me why I am doing this again?” I felt as though butterflies had sequestered my stomach and would not relinquish it, no matter how I tried to reason my nervousness away. I reminded my self that I had chosen to do this and that I would enjoy myself. But visions of that goofy cartoon, the one where he is trying to learn to ski, just kept invading my brain. I had never strapped on skis in my entire 30 years of life, so why was I subjecting myself to this now? It gave my something to bog about, I reasoned, and it was a chance to do something new; not to mention an entire day free of children is an extreme rarity.

We drove up to Mount Hood, the world gradually turning white as we climbed. It was a long wait when we arrived at the small lodge before we finally obtained our boots and skis. I thought rollerblades were hard to get your feet into! My ankle nearly snapped like a twig just trying to get the boot on. Once booted I awkwardly tramped to the counter for my skis. After I was completely set I began my ungainly stagger up the hill to the training area. I think I was a little unprepared. No one had warned me that the boots were going to kill my feet and my legs, or that the rope tow would likely jerk my arms off. I had this rosy image of myself beautifully skiing at the end of the day . . . well, that is a fib; I actually pictured a giant snowball rolling down the hill with skis stuck out of it! But, I didn’t even get that far. I had forgotten that I have problems with my arches so after an agonizing trip down the training hill I had to give up. I was completely bummed out and felt like a wimp, but my one saving grace is that I will live to try again and this time I will be prepared!

I decided to go tubing instead. Now I would like you to take a moment, close your eyes, and picture . . . oh, wait, I guess you can’t read with your eyes shut, so just picture goofy on an inner tube. It was a blast and very comedic I am sure. I managed to keep my seat rather well, except for . . .

The tuber came down and handed me his tube, upon inspection I noticed it was a bit misshapen. As my turn came I handed it to the rope tow operator, sat on my tube and was slowly hauled up the hill. There is no elegant and graceful way to climb off an inner tube in motion. I finally resulted to flinging my self gawkily in the snow and having a good laugh experimenting with different methods of gracelessness. On this particular tube run there were a couple of little jumps that you could get some pretty good air, if done right. I am a tummy slider, better for aerodynamics and speed. As my time arrived I stood holding my tube in front and hurled my body forward, slamming into my tube on the track for the maximum speed possible. The first time it had worked like a charm (other than sailing over the embankment at the end and taking down three teenagers, hee hee), the second time . . . well, we’ll blame it on the misshapen tube. I hit the jump and sailed through the air. Landing on the bulge I was jarred to the side and my body was completely off the tube. I had stoically kept my grip however and was now being dragged unceremoniously down the track. I finally managed to stop and, righting myself, took off at break neck pace once again. Upon hitting the second jump I once again took to the air. My landing was not as lucky. For the second time I landed on that bulge and my tube flipped sending me sailing solo down the track leaving my hat and goggles embedded in the snow. Nothing like a good wipe out. 🙂

I met up with my hubby (I had sent him off to enjoy skiing for a while) and we head to the car for some lunch. The snow had begun to fall more heavily, waltzing elusively around us as they drifted to the earth. The wind came unexpectedly, launching them into a frenzied boogie and then slackening just enough to let them flow into a romantic tango.

Paul went to do a few more ski runs and I headed again to the tubing. Some time had passed and the track had become more slick and icy and the jump had been worn down more. I prepared for my departure and unleashed myself with fervor. I hit that jumped and sailed into the air landing on the upper ridge of the track. I continued to slide on the ridge for a good 5 plus feet before sliding down the embankment of the track. I struggled through the snow and slid the rest of the way down. I guess they frown upon people sailing off the track because they moved the starting point further down to eliminate the jump. 🙂

It was a fun adventure and I know I haven’t seen the last of skis or of the mountain. Bring it on!

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