A Love Story . . . the Prequel

Ten years ago, I met a boy. We stood in the parking lot of a church building early in the morning, ready to embark on a service project. The youth of our stake was combining with the youth of a local Catholic congregation to essentially rebuild a town. Guadalupe, Arizona. The place where love is born. 

But, back to that morning...I was introduced to this boy by his loud/obnoxious/charming best friend who I knew from my seminary class.  The sun was shining, everyone was talking, his best friend was asking if I had glitter on my face ("Um...maybe there's some in my makeup?" I remember saying...) and holding most of my attention.  But, in small moments, I sized him up. Quiet, cute, funny, guarded, observant, tall, friendly. Never the center of attention...just directly outside of it, enjoying himself, sure of himself in a very quiet way...standing there with his hands in his pockets, his eyes squinting against the sun. Again, I can't say that much of my attention rested on him that day since his best friend and I were in the early stages of a mutual crush, but I do know he was there. That I noticed him. That I knew I was comfortable with him. That he was silently strong and good.

Fast forward to about six months later...we had spent the summer together.  That mutual crush between his best friend and I grew to be a relationship. He and his best friend were inseparable. Me and his best friend were inseparable. Therefore, we became joined at the hip by default...but what an enjoyable default it was.  I came to trust him as a consistent buddy, the guy I hung out in the background with when the pressure of being the girlfriend of the most energetic guy in the world became a little much and I needed to just observe a little. I was a bit of a fish out of water at the time...new relationship, new friends, new "frenemies" (the group of girls that had been consistently flocking around my new boyfriend for approximately two years, working for his attention...and now, here I was, a year younger than all of them no less, daring to have won his interest without trying...by the way, I am really excited to have worked in a trendy word like "frenemies." I feel like Lindsay Lohan.) I joked around with him, called him when I was feeling insecure about his friend's feelings for me and sat next to him at parties because he made me feel comfortable. I also, at one time, knee'd him in the groin and locked him in a closet. But that's a whole other story...

By the time we'd known each other a year, the friendship had grown to a point of a sibling-like closeness. He was always there. I was always there. Consistent is the word that keeps coming to mind. We just always...were.  The year had brought a lot of interesting experiences and, for me, stumbling blocks. But he was always around, making me feel like I was okay.  Granted, I was pretty wrapped up in a relationship with his best friend for that year...most of my world revolved directly around that. But as wonderful as I remember that relationship being, it was still a relationship. And I was still just a sixteen year-old kid. So...needless to say, much of the time I was a bit up and down, a bit silly, a bit cross-eyed and confused.  I know now that he went through periods of instability too but he never showed it.   He just continued to make me laugh and, more importantly, laugh with me. When I was with those two guys, we laughed a lot.  It felt like family. Even when he would "flirt" with me too much and his best friend would punch him in the leg. Flirting doesn't really happen in families but punching sometimes does so...yeah...

Our second summer together was different. We were all just a little bit older, grown-up mentality setting in a little bit more...well, for me at least.  My boyfriend had graduated. I had just a year left of highschool. I knew the basics of what I wanted after that but all the details were a little shaky. Isn't that a funny phase of life? I get sick to my stomach just thinking about the transition from junior year to senior year.  July in particular. Highschool relationships may be highschool relationships but when you try to transition out of them, especially as the only one who wants to do so, it's rough going.  It was at his house, during a movie, that I asked his best friend if we could go talk in the other room. It was his face, and the face of another good friend, that I looked back at as I followed my boyfriend out of the room to make him no longer my boyfriend, that I looked to for support and reassurance that I was doing the right thing for both of us.  It was him that stayed back the next night and hung out with his best friend while the rest of us went out to watch fireworks. It was him that gave his loyalty to both of us and helped us keep our friendship strong when it would have been easier to just stay away. He did all this just by being who he was. By being there.

Our senior year rolled in and brought with it an opportunity to build a friendship based on more than my relationship with his best friend. He transfered schools and landed at mine. Now it was him I walked the halls with...all our other close friends were either graduated or off at cosmetology school for half the day (Katie.) (By the way, I meant that to sound accusatory...but I'm not sure why...my hair wouldn't be near as manageable if it weren't for you...) He kept me sane through a year of senioritis/anxiety about graduating, crushes popping up all over the place (he even gave them all nicknames...sometimes nice ones. Sometimes not so much.), and too-spicy cafeteria chicken sandwiches that I always thought I could eat but never ended up being able to. I kept him entertained, I believe, and hopefully supported as he deserved to be. I was nice to his nose-ringed crush who drew strange pictures on his backpack and admired his firebird.  I talked him up to cute girls (like he needed it...though me hanging around all the time probably made him hard to get to...) and gladly went to homecoming with him. I kept him well fed (too-spicy cafeteria chicken sandwiches) and kept him from getting bored. Keeping up with me, my analytical mind, my emotions and my sign language presentations that I needed to practice was like a full time job for him, I'm sure. He also went to class sometimes.  On the weekends, we hung out with his best friend and the same friends we'd been hanging out with for what now seemed like forever (and for him, pretty much had been).  At school, he laughed at me when I tripped, told me when the guy I liked was looking or not, gagged when I ate cream cheese on everything, threw a chair when a guy in the cafeteria was harassing me and made fun of me openly in seminary.  Then, we graduated. 

The year after highschool is the year our relationship grew the most. I think it's because that is the year we fell madly in love. 

The end.

No, no, wait...the thing is, we hadn't fallen in love with each other.  He fell in love. I fell in love. Separate stories, though intertwined in a way because we were each others' sounding boards, support systems, reality checks.  Seems everyone we usually hung around with was gone...missions, marriage, school, etc. We both found ourselves out in an almost-adult world, still in touch, still with each others' backs but suddenly wrapped up in other people. Then he left on his mission. He wrote home about how wonderful this girl was and how scared he was she wouldn't be there when he got back. I wrote him about how wonderful this guy was and how scared I was that I would trip next time I was with him.  He wrote home about daydreams, plans and prayers. I wrote him about adoration, romantic hikes and almost holding hands.  He wrote of doubts and striving to be worthy of her. I wrote of laying awake at night and not knowing if I should make my feelings known.  We both wrote about other things too but we were both too drunken with infatuation to talk of much else.  I reassured him. He cautioned me. I told him she sounded great and I was rooting for him. He told me that I sounded absolutely beside myself and he was rooting for me (just be careful and don't let yourself get hurt).  He got a letter about an engagement ring. I got "just friends."  We both wrote about tears, devastation and heartache. He put his head down and got to work.  I moved away for a while.  Then, slowly, we wrote of other things. Lots of other things. Once a week, other things. For the rest of the two years he was gone. We talked about everything and mostly, nothing.  I had never known another person so completely and, by the time he got home, we were best friends in a way that could never be reversed.

Also, by the time he got home, we were back where we started. Me, in a relationship with his best friend. Only, this time, engaged.  Him? The best man, of course.  The first time I saw him, I hugged him. The second time, I cried.  I told my fiance that I wasn't sure how to keep being best friends with my best friend when it was also his best friend and . . . it just all seemed so complicated. Now? Not so much. But at the time, I wanted so badly for things to be able to change but also stay the same. My fiance looked at me and said, "JC loves you. He will always love you and you will always love him. That doesn't have to change. We will all always be together, even if it is different than it used to be."  

We got married.

Fast forward to nearly two years later. I am in labor with my first baby...for twenty three hours I am in labor with my first baby. Who is there with me? My husband. Who else? Our best friend. Consistent, I tell you.  Granted, he leaves the room during exams and what not and goes home to sleep at night.  But, most of the time, he's there. Sitting next to my husband, watching tv, eating jack-in-the-box (even though I hadn't eaten for nearly two days) and talking about how attractive he finds Tyra Banks while I deal with contractions.  It's all kind of a blur but I'm pretty sure I completely disowned the both of them during those hours. BUT...when a sweet baby girl with dark hair and eyes is curled up in my arms later that day and I hand her over to her "Uncle JC" for the first time, I decide he can be part of the family again. (I had already re-owned my husband while he held my hand through the pain earlier) Because, though she had sleepy, scrunched eyes through everything else on her first day here, when she found herself face to face with him, she stared. She hardly blinked at all. Just stared. It was clear she knew who he was.  Silently strong and good. Just like I knew the first time I saw him.

Our little family of three had a happy summer. We saw "Uncle JC" here and there but it was mostly just the three of us, enjoying our home, enjoying being a family and spending lots of time together.  It was fun to be in a new phase and though I felt a bit disconnected from the world, it was okay because I was figuring out how to do this thing called mothering and working hard at being a good wife.  There was lots of love and lots of smiles.  And lots of celebrating being parents by getting excited about all the little things. Then, some big things started happening. We decided to sell our house and move, decided he would go to school for two years, decided we would have another baby. The day he enrolled in school, we called our best friend to see if he wanted to meet up for dinner and hear about all of our exciting new plans. "Sure, my girlfriend is out of town, I could use something to do." You have a girlfriend??? "Yeah. Nothing special though." Oh. I see. ...wait...what??...The rest of the night revolved around catching up on topics like that and arguing over whether Pei Wei's Orange Peel Chicken is too spicy or not.  It was really good to be together, the three of us again. Well..really..the four of us. But Bethany mostly just sat in her carseat and stared at JC like usual.

About a month later, JC broke up with his "nothing special" girlfriend on a Wednesday night. That same night, I made a fancy dinner for my husband to celebrate the three year mark of him returning from his mission to the Philippines and also the fact that we had just found out our second baby was expected.  The next morning, he moved on to another mission. His time on earth was ended in a quick and unexpected instant when a truck crossed over the yellow line and hit his car head on.  This, like many other parts of our story, is a story in itself and there is little I can say to shed light on all the things that were said, done, felt, etc. at that time.  On that day, and after, so many were there. So many offered comfort.  So many gave strength by just being there.  But one of the memories burned into my mind's eye from that time is walking into the arms of my best friend...who had just lost his best friend...and just staying there and feeling his comforting, consistent heart beat.  Silent. Strong. Good.

I'm still there.

This month, we celebrated our third wedding anniversary. Since we've been married, we've stood as sturdy as we could. A lot of the world around us had fallen apart when we started our life together.  It seems like, since then, we've been busy rebuilding things, watching them fall back apart again sometimes, welcoming some change (babies) and resisting some as well, fighting to stay not only on our two feet but holding hands in the meantime.  Smiling if possible. Fighting for our family. Fighting for our faith. Fighting to keep our heads above water.  The fight can be hard but it's not really about that.  It's about us. Ten years we've been in each others' lives. Three years we've been a part of each others' forever.  Nothing can stop us from living the lives we want to live, building the home and family we want to build. Getting to that point where we will be with our other best friend again.  There's a lot of work to be done and, it sometimes seems, a lot of battles to fight.  But there is so much joy to be had. I'm going to keep tripping over my own feet, ordering food that is too spicy for me and seeking him out to sit next to when I am feeling overwhelmed.  He's going to keep making me laugh, being a consistent friend and calling me out on my obsessive tendencies (even if it's not over boys anymore...).  

And he's going to keep flirting with me.

Because, now, he's allowed.

You call this boring?

On a certain day of December, 2008, I did some...perhaps all...of the following:

*Fell asleep on the couch after getting up with Bethany when it was still dark outside. My body just cannot get past the blanket concept of dark = sleepy time. When a song ending an episode of Thomas the Tank Engine woke me, I found her sitting amidst a pile of Lindor chocolate wrappers. (JC got a bag at his company Christmas party.) Because I had daydreamed about finding myself in that same situation I knew that each piece held two hundred something calories and loads of fat and sugar. I groaned, knowing she would probably be sick for the rest of the day and since her body would be busy breaking down all that junk, it would have to slack on its other full-time job - - fighting off the cold/flu - - and probably get worse and have to miss preschool again. After talking to JC on the phone, I discovered that the chocolates had been completely gone the night before...she must have just stumbled across a pile of wrappers and sat down to inhale the sweetness and imagine what the experience of actually eating them must have been like. I'm guessing.

*Shook through a pilates workout. What do they think exists in the core they keep referring to? Rubber and steel plates???

*Melted when James snuggled up on my lap and said, "Mommy, I wuhz you." (I don't think that requires a translation, does it?)

*Became really excited about making a casserole-sized pot pie from scratch. Cut up the veggies, browned the turkey, took a picture of the rainbow of fresh yummies ready to go into the pan, put it in the oven to allow the delicious aroma to fill the house...then allowed it to burn.

*Became really excited about the rain we were getting. I dressed the kids in rain-ish clothes (new "outside downstairs" clothes and shoes, of course) and took them out back to splash in tiny puddles and enjoy the misting of raindrops. Unfortunately, by the time I got them ready and outside, the misting had turned to a steady fall..then a bit of a downpour. And it got cold. But, after all that time getting ready and getting them all excited, I figured a few minutes wouldn't hurt. Of course, that meant that the tiny puddles I intended for them to enjoy were no longer tiny.

*Accidentally allowed the cat outside into the mud.

*Let Ben wade into a puddle that was nearly up to his knees. Watched him fall down and get soaking wet and, therefore...
...freezing cold.
*Right when we were about ready to get ourselves inside, I heard the phone ringing. I realized that it was probably JC and since I no longer use a cell phone and can't really call him at work, I knew I should really get to the phone. Rushing, and knowing I wanted to get to the phone and back out to the kids as fast as possible but also not track mud through our house, I run to the door, slip off one shoe and hop through our downstairs looking for a phone. We have six. None downstairs apparently. I then proceed to, very quickly, hop up the stairs, looking for one of the phones like crazy (it only rings four times before going to the answering machine and I knew he would just hang up if I didn't answer...also, at this point I realize he could have called before while we were outside and gotten no answer and proceeded to worry) I finally get to a phone that is actually in its charger (in the farthest away corner of the house it could possibly be from where I began my search) and answer it. Him. I don't remember at all what we talked about or why it was so important. As I'm talking to him, I hurry to get back out to the kids, hopping out on to the balcony, over the baby gate and down the stairs...then down more stairs to the lower level back patio where I had left my other shoe. All of this happened in about twenty seconds. Our house is just under 4000 sq. ft. I think I get a medal.

*Decided that really cold, really wet kids for more than a few minutes is just bad parenting. I instructed them to follow me and took them down to the downstairs door. At this point, I realized I didn't have a plan. I essentially needed to strip them down, get them inside, warm them up, clean them up and avoid getting our carpet muddy because, let's face it, I probably wouldn't remember to clean the carpet in that spot any time soon and it would become gross. And it's in my bedroom. No thanks. So, I sprinted in for towels. Now my shoes were off. Kids were pulling at me, climbing on me. Now I ditched my clothing as well for the same reason I didn't let the carpet get too dirty...why do I even own white and/or light colored clothing? (the convenience of being the only two story house around) Crying kids. Undress, set inside, wrap in towel. Next? Undress, set inside, wrap in towel. (avoid getting towel actually muddy because these are the last three we have that are clean and will also be used for drying off after the bath) Next? ...Next?...James?

*Realized I was missing a child. Left the other two inside, hoping against hope they didn't wander back out and slipped on my trusty one shoe (I know this sounds ridiculous but seriously, in moments like this, you just cannot be bothered with the extra time it would take to put on or take off more shoes than absolutely necessary.) Hopped up the back patio stairs and started the search for James. In our backyard. In the rain. In my underwear. And one shoe. Waving back at the other two, "Mommy be right back! Mommy be right back! Stay inside! Stay inside!"

*When I couldn't find James, I began to panic a little. Half because I was missing my son and half because if he wasn't in the backyard, that meant he could possibly have wandered into the front yard and I was not sure I was ready for my act to be taken public. (I realize I could have run back inside and thrown on something before proceeding to the front yard but when you're missing a kid you don't think things through) After my millionth time yelling "James? James?" I hear a very soft "What, Mommy?" and look down to see three children standing on the back patio. I then questioned my sanity until I realized he had climbed up the stairs to the balcony while I was undressing the other two, scaled the baby gate at the top (I don't want to think about it...don't worry, we've replaced it with a higher one) and gone through the still-open upstairs door, tracked through the entire upstairs and down to us. How did I know this? His muddy footprints throughout the whole house. All that hopping for nothing.

*Gave my kids what was probably the most violent bath ever. This happened probably because I put them all in there at once and just started washing. Why? They were all freezing and I had already gotten the nice, perfectly warmed bath water ready and started bathing one of them when the timer for my pot pie went off. Threw the other two in (it was a soft throw) and proceeded with a quick version of the bathing process. They were all crying and trying to beat each other by the end of that five minutes.

*Forgot about my pot pie in the search for pajamas for each of them and the struggles that ensued.

*After eating only the bottom half of the pie for dinner, tried to lighten the kids' moods by putting a diaper on my head, and saying in a strange accent, "Do you like my hat?" It worked a little too well and for the next hour, if I wanted to avoid hysterics from one or all of them, this is what I did. Repeatedly.

*Attacked JC when he got home from work, begging for relief from being their only source of entertainment. (This may be a large thing to ask of him at the end of his twelve hours away at work but it really helped that I had yet to find an opportunity to make my way back downstairs to get dressed.) Luckily for him, it was bedtime. Not a lot of entertainment required.

*Needed a particularly cleansing, but not too intense, workout after they went to bed and busted out my old prenatal yoga DVD. So, Mom, if you're reading this and happened to have noticed that DVD out at my house, you can relax. It was just for old times' sake. :) (Though I did particularly enjoy the relaxing nature of the practice and did it for the next week)

*Let JC be the first to break our deal of "no sweets" (landing me the right to choose the next three movies we go see)...waited three minutes...then ate a piece of fudge.

*Later, ate two more.

*Collapsed on the couch next to my honey at the very end of a very long day, with traces of fudge on my face no less, and realized that it was still raining. And the cat was still outside.

* * * * * *

Last year, I ran into an old aquaintance from highschool. We chatted a bit and it soon became apparent what I do "for a living." He says to me, "Wow. When I get married I will never expect my wife to give up her life to stay home with our kids. It just seems a waste of all the potential a woman has to succeed in and enjoy life. I mean...don't you get bored???"

Now.

Let's just try to ignore every other part of that unfortunate remark and focus on the part that trickled back into my mind on this particular day. Boredom. Hmm...can't...think...of the last...time...

My to-do list runs out in approximately 2029, and that's only if I cease adding things to it and never sleep.

On top of that, no day is predictable. No day is ever the same. Couldn't be if I used every ounce of energy in my body trying to make it that way.

To his credit, I think I know what he meant. Do I get restless? Absolutely. Do I sometimes wonder what happened to the version of me that had more to offer than the struggling version of the basic necessities of life I routinely dish out to my babies (that they routinely fight me on)? Oh yes. Do I sometimes feel like if I don't find the opportunity to be somewhere else, do something else for at least a few minutes out of my week I just may scream? Of course.

But, do I get bored?

Are you kidding me?

And, more importantly, even on hopping-through-the-rain-in-my-underwear days, do I wish I had chosen differently?

Not a chance.

Taking It Easy...

Ben got over being sick-ish pretty fast but since he still had a little something in his system, he was pretty laid back over the next couple of days. The other two must have had it going on as well, though neither ever ran fever. Again, HALLELUIA!!! We are starting to beat the poo out of these pesky germs that keep coming around. 

We can beat you off without even running a fever anymore.

Eat that for breakfast, germs.

. . . .

Well, anyway . . .

. . . .

It's been a long cold and flu season for me...so...moving on...

Here's what we do on lazy days like these. (there are so many things I don't do on days like these, I thought we could focus on what we actually DO do. I'm just going to side-step my wording.)

Sit together on the couch all cozy-like and watch Sesame Street.

Change into really comfy pj's, snuggle into beanbag chairs with our blankets and favorite stuffed animal to drink some herb-laden juice and watch a Disney movie of our choosing...

Incredibles.

On one of these days, Grandma Trudie came over for a bit, allowing Mommy to run to the store for some necessities, including a bouqet of the most invigorating flowers she had ever seen. (Lillies are a favorite. Orange flowers are a favorite. Can it get better?)

Couldn't think of a better way to brighten up our sickly, dragging household than some sunshiney flowers.

Makes you smile, doesn't it?

After resting quite a bit, Ben and Bethany perked up a lot and started moving around more. Ben, as usual, pulled all the books onto the floor for a good half hour of browsing through them. Though, this time, he did it wearing fairy wings which was a nice way to change up a routine activity.

James continued to take it easy in front of Jungle Book which paid off for him. He was back to normal the next day!

Bethany got dressed up to play mommy to her baby, Donald.

I wish this is really what Mommies got to wear every day, tucking their babies into their beds wearing pink bucket hats, fairy wings and flowy costumes. I guess nothing is really stopping us.

She is such a good little mommy. So much of her world has been babies! She knows just how they work. I always hear her telling James how to hold them, how to feed them, burp them, change them, dress them, lay them down, keep them happy, etc. She is very specific in her instruction, like she has been observing my every move for the past two years. Perhaps she will be ready to babysit at an early age. :)

So, that's how you take it easy, toddler-style.

A Winter Return to Outside Downstairs

I finally decided that, after having to turn the kids down several times in their begging to play "outside downstairs" due to either sickness or fertilizer or lack of being able to find any darn closed-toe shoes and/or jackets in the maze of our house, we needed a designated "play outside" morning. I set it. Ben got a fever. With only rest, lots of liquids, herbs and vitamins, it was gone within a day. Take that. Moved our play date with our own property to the next day and went out and bought the kids "outside downstairs" shoes and - - get this - - sweatsuits just for that purpose.  Tired of worrying about their regular clothes getting all muddy and having no idea when I will do that next load of laundry! (Not because I'm lazy but because I sincerely have no idea what could happen to change my ability to do something as simple as load, start and switch out the laundry.  

Case in point - - I bought pants when I was in Utah at the beginning of November. The other day (we are at the end of December), I was putting away clothes that had sat in laundry baskets for "a while" (clean, mind you...at least when they sit they are usually clean and divided into everyone's baskets!) and came across the pants. Joy! I say to myself, forgetting that I had bought them and worn them on the plane ride home. Oh...I say to myself as I put them on and they are now too big. I missed a whole two months of being able to enjoy some wonderful pants. Then I get over it really fast and Joy! I say to myself again as I realize that this means I probably can start wearing some of the stuff I was wearing post-James/pre-Ben. 

I got way off-subject.

So, anyway, Ben started feeling totally better, we suited up and laced up some mud-welcoming shoes and enjoyed the afternoon as follows:

First order of business - - fill the much-neglected bird feeder. Bethany helps...

James helps...

Ben plays. "We have a playhouse???" he exclaims to himself...the backyard sure is a different place now that he can walk!

Then he helps too.

JC does the heavy lifting of the project because he is, as the kids say, "so strong." I watch my husband work. Because I can.

I also check out his huge and solid arms.

Because I can.

The kids swing. Looking at this picture, I can actually hear Ben's laugh!

James is more of a hesitant swinging participant.

There they go!

Bethany has enjoyed this same swing since she was about nine months old. Her first Christmas present from Santa!

Not sure what this face means but I thought it worth sharing.

The bird-feeder's new home. I got tired of what the birds left us all over the balcony as thanks for their food. It goes well here though.

The garden. Bethany looks at me funny when I call it that. No vision, my dear. No vision.

James finds something interesting in the grass...daddy's shoe? Not sure how it got there...

But he does appear to be in need of it. So, of course...James begins to run away with it. And I, as the ever-loving wife, stand there and take pictures.

He finally coaxes him back over.

And JC puts on his shoe. Suddenly, this story seems less worth sharing...oh well...

James loves to run around when we are outside. He always has some kind of game going in his head.

I love this tree in our backyard. I am working on a name for it because I want it to be with us forever. Feels like it should have a name. It is so large and friendly.

The trees that overlook the yard from the houses around us, aren't bad either. I love the variety and how we always have a green curtain on one side of our yard.

Ben, doing the traditional super-baby. I can't believe, sometimes, how trusting these little guys are. Imagine if you were being thrown up high by someone five times as tall as you...I don't think I would remain calm, let alone enjoy it, as they seem to.

JC doing his eyebrow thing. I like to capture it on film every once in a while.

While Daddy was busy making faces for the camera, little Ben fell down and got "bonks." (what the kids call when they bonk their head or other part of their body on something. It's like a specific kind of owie. It's like getting a scratch or getting a bruise. Getting bonks.)

During most of our time outside, James was, of course, holed up in the tower part of the playset with a few of his animals.

Bethany enjoyed most of the time on her swing.

And Ben grew very fond of the playhouse. Who could blame him? It's just his size.

He then discovered that most of our outside play balls had been tossed inside the playhouse one day so the grass could be cut. He spent a while bringing them all out to JC.

Fun times. I love being outdoors with them. It's a whole new world when you're so little and everything is so fresh and open. Let's hope we get more days like this, now that we have the proper outerwear. :)

But first I need to get the load of laundry done that has those sweatsuits in it...