wedding plans

Well, it appears about 6 years ago I left a few people hanging in this relationship story. In my defense, I had a baby at 42. He is a handful.

Let's play a little catch up. The year was 1989. The music was good, the hair was big, we all thought we were so mature and had no idea what life had in store for us. Girl (me) meets boy at church dance, oh so cliche… Girl likes boy, boy finally asks out girl. A whole new decade! 1990! Strangely, boy keeps meeting more girls! Boy and girl date and break up repeatedly. Barriers get broken, walls come down, tears are shed. Boy and girl decide they want to be together forever! Of course, this takes a whole year. 1991!

So now that we are caught up, and all the tears have been shed, it's time to tie the bow on this love story. Or the knot, let’s tie the knot.

There is this crazy little mating dance that we humans do, and Mormons do it even a little more strangely than the rest of you. We know we want to be together, but it's hard to say, and can get very silly once said. So, David and I have been dancing like the most awkward emus ever known to man, and the dance floor just turned to mush, and we are swimming in it. (If you can follow that metaphor, you've probably been there.)

We want to be together constantly, when we’re not together, we’re on the phone. We go looking at diamond rings for no apparent reason. I'm old fashioned, so I let him know that he'll have to talk to my dad first, if he wants to marry me. My dad is old fashioned too, and huge. A 6’3” 250lb former farmer can be a little intimidating apparently. Dad has begun his new tradition with his oldest daughter of refusing to call their date be their actual name.

David was referred to as “Wart”. Dad assures me it is a compliment, the nickname bestowed by Merlin on King Arthur, but David is not so sure. David makes “secret” arrangements to meet my dad at his office. Dad draws up a contract. It's not super formal, but it did require a signature, and did address that where his daughters were concerned, there would be no returns! Not sure who was more insulted by that one.

I was still working at Radio Shack, and David had made arrangements to pick me up some could go walk around the Mesa Temple. Somehow (maybe the lack of drama or maybe I was panicking) I failed to realize this was it! As we got close to the Temple, I told David I was hungry, and I'd like to stop for some fries. Jack in the Box was right there, although across the street from where it is now. (Did I see that it actually closed?)

Meanwhile, David is panicking because he has friends waiting for us at the Temple.

We get my fries and head to the Temple. We meander around the west side toward the front. David “notices” a box on the bench north of the entrance. He suggests we go see what it is. I reply that it would be weird to just go over to some random box sitting on a bench at the Temple! What if it's someone’s pizza? (Eye roll, nerd glasses, lol face) He insists. I resist. I would be mortified to know that Scott and Jacque (remember them?) are watching from the bushes. Because seriously, who leaves a pizza box with a diamond ring sitting on a bench unattended?

I finally realize that the box is a plant (but not that we are being watched). We approach the bench, and as I open the box, he gets down on one knee (I can see it In my mind, and we are so young!). I open the box, and it's not a pizza, but a giant cookie printed with, “Will you be my eternal queen?” And a diamond ring (that fit perfectly) in a crystal box. Neither one of us could talk. As my eyes welled up, I could swear his did too, and I croaked out “yes” in response to the cookie. And then we kissed, me and the boy.

And years later

As I grew up, it's harder for me to tell Bobby’s story. I think humans are naturally self absorbed, at least I hope it's not just me. I always looked up to both of my older brothers, but I started to have a life of my own and not depend quite as much on them.
Mom and Dad were still very good friends with the Davis family. Bobby and Von were tight friends and suitably reckless. The Hall family moved into the house behind the Davis’s, and Bobby had a crush on their fun-loving, pretty daughter Linda. I'm not sure if he had a “type” other than pretty, maybe long feathered hair…
As our family had grown, so had our car. Bobby and Jamie would take the green and white striped van (was it 10 passenger.) up to Mesa to cruise Main with the other teenage kids. But, in that car, they decided that paper bags over their heads would be the best accessory. Bobby was naturally trim and compact. He didn't like his younger brother getting bigger than him, so he got a set of weights and worked out religiously. He also had some run ins at school with kids taking his money and wanted to defend himself.
I would say, from my perspective, Bobby was a nice guy hanging out with a rebel crowd. They were the thrill seekers, but not at others’ expense. If you didn't mess with them, they wouldn't mess with you. They certainly weren't above toilet papering a cute girl’s house or egging the car of some jerk. I can't remember how old he was when dad realized that the little plant growing in the 7up bottle in his closet was marijuana, or if it was before or after he went away to school. Lol.
Bobby had an innate sense of order. He liked his room relatively clean, but also didn't like being told what to do. (that last part seems to be a family trait.) he had an entrepreneurial spirit and was always trying to get Jamie to start a business with him. They had both grown up working the chopping crew on the farm and driving tractors, but he had other plans. At one point, they started a Tidy Car service which was like a detailed car wash that came to you. Either car paint was not as strong or people kept their cars longer, because lots of cars had oxidized paint back then! This process would buff that out and restore the shine. They did that for a while, until it fizzled out. Also back in the day, lots of kids would jack their trucks up really high. This would mess with the factory speedometer, and none of them knew how fast they were driving. Bobby worked out a formula that used the height of the lift on the truck to adjust the speedometer. He had bunches of sticky backed inserts made to market to these people. Unfortunately for him, this fad passed rather quickly and he still had stacks of speedometer stickers.
Bobby’s first attempt at private school was a joint decision with our parents. They wanted him to get away from his drug-using friends and he wanted to get away from some kids he thought were bullies. I'm sure there were plenty of discussions that I was not privy to. He went to school in Tucson, but it wasn't the greatest fit. They didn't like when he almost burnt down the school, and he didn't like how upset they got just because he wanted to experiment with a lighter and some hairspray!
For some reason, they all thought that military school might be the answer. Dad had gone to New Mexico Military Institute, and so had Grandpa, Uncle Pete, and Roger Staubach. Bobby decided to give it a try. Some time later (c’mon, I was a kid) the school called to say that Bobby had gone AWOL. Not too much later, he called from Tucson and said he had hitched a ride that far with a trucker, but needed a ride the rest of the way home. Dad was always a very strict disciplinarian, but he wasn't one to leave his child stranded, so they figured out a way to get Bobby back to Chandler. I think it was about this time that he decided that high school really wasn't his thing and just took the test to get his GED.
Throughout this time, Bobby was always very mechanical. He worked on cars and worked at Tim Bland’s machine shop. He and Tim became quite close. Tim was also a close friend of Dad’s.
Bobby loved outdoorsy stuff. He loved to go shooting at the dump, camping, boating, skiing. He didn't let his severe asthma get in the way of life. He always carried an inhaler with him and often needed a puff. His evening was usually spent (or part of it) attached to his asthma machine. But, he had boundless energy for getting out and going.
He also loved music. The record player kept spinning. I think The Beatles were his first love, but The Who, Rush, Styx, Pink Floyd, Queen, and many others made the playlist. He loved to quiz me when we were in the car together. “Monique, who sings this song?” If I didn't know, he was so disappointed. He always knew. I better know if it was The Beatles!
I really can't remember when he started to fly and to jump out of airplanes. I thought he was crazy. Airplanes made me sick, but why on earth would you jump out of one?
One final story, when Bobby was high school age, he was at the park one day and saw a girl he knew with one of their teachers. The couple were obviously together, he saw them kiss. He was torn apart! He really looked up to that teacher and thought he was great. He also believed that it was highly inappropriate. He finally decided that he had to tell mom. Of course, as she was in the school board, he knew she would have to turn him in. He told her how much it pained him to tell her about it, but he knew he had to. That was the kind of guy he was. He was fun loving, literally crazy ;) and a bit of a prankster, but also extremely ethical, fair, and good hearted.

Memories of my brother

Okay, I know I haven't been on here forever, and now, I'm not even going back to my story yet. This post is really for my nephew, Mike. Mike asked for some memories of his dad, who was killed in an airplane crash about 12 years ago. A few other people wanted to read it and this is what I came up with as the best medium to share. If you don't want to read about my brother, Bobby, stop now. This is the first 6 pages, I didn't want to make you wait forever while I finish. It's only sort of in order. And it's just my memories, some of them may be wrong.

My Memories of My Brother, Bobby

First, a note to you Mike, since you asked for this. I’m going to tell you what I can remember, since of course, everything I say will be tainted by my perspective. I’m not going to write it to you, though, because there may be things in here that you won’t want to know, but you asked for them, and you’re an adult. There may be things that your dad wouldn’t want you to know, but he’s not here, and so he doesn’t get a say.

Bobby Bogle was born on January 17, 1964. His parents lived in Tucson and were attending the University of Arizona. They were young, his mom had just graduated high school the year before. I wasn’t born for this, so I can only tell a few stories that I’ve heard.

He was actually named Robert Laurence  Bogle, Robert after his dad. His dad’s name was John Robert Bogle, people called him Bob. He said that if his wife wanted to name their son after him, she had to pick his first name and call him that, no more going by middle names. Betty Jean Pickering had grown up in Chandler, Arizona with Bob and they married soon after high school. She was a pom-pom girl (captain of the team) at Chandler High, and he was the son of a successful farmer who attended military school in New Mexico (NMMI).

Bobby was full of energy as a little boy, despite or maybe because he was diagnosed with severe asthma at a very young age. His mom had to give him shots for a while and she remembers the doctor telling her that the drugs he needed were such powerful stimulants that they would take ten years off the end of his life, but without them, he would die.

Bobby’s parents had a dog named Squirt. Bobby loved to chase him around their house in his walker shouting, “Squee, Squee” and running over his tail as often as possible. (A walker was a little contraption that they used to put babies in before they could walk to keep them occupied. It was kind of like a bouncer on wheels and the baby could pretend to walk all over the place. It had a little tray for toys or cereal, as well.)

In October, 1966, Bobby’s brother, Jamie was born. Bobby adored his new little brother and, at the tender age of three, would comment on his energy with, “He’s so rambunctious!”

Several things happened in 1970, including me. Dad had finished his Bachelor degree in business and was working at a bank when he was called by his family to come home to Chandler to help run the farm. His dad, who was Adjutant General of the Arizona National Guard, had been in a car accident. It became evident that he needed some help to overcome his alcohol addiction. He had entered into a program in Minnesota and would be gone for a while.

The small family, two young boys, dad, and pregnant mom, moved back to Chandler. They first moved into a small house in town and while they were there, a couple of young men knocked on the door and asked them what they knew about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Always curious, the parents invited the young men in and they began to talk. The family soon moved to a house on the farm, a community known as Ocotillo, about 4 miles south of town. The missionaries asked if they could come again after they moved. Knowing that they rode bikes everywhere, Dad told them they could, but didn’t really expect them to.

Imagine their surprise when the missionaries really did set up an appointment and ride their bikes, repeatedly, all the way to Ocotillo. They kept coming and having conversations for about 8 months. By this time, a baby girl had been born in May. Mom and Dad named me Monique Fay, but the boys, now 6 and 3 wanted to call me Rocket so they could send me to the moon or Football so they could kick me. Apparently, I was in the way of their fun. In August, around the time of their 7^th wedding anniversary, Mom and Dad were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and we started to go to church. I vaguely remember that we went to Sacrament meeting, came home to eat and went back to church for Sunday School. Primary was held on a weekday afternoon.

My memory is a little spotty here, but I know we loved living out in the country. We had two dogs now, Lovey and Shadow. Lovey was a black lab and Shadow was some sort of black and white sheep dog. Lovey was the best dog in the world and I think all of us who knew her hold all black labs in a special place in our hearts. We had some random cats here and there as well, but Lovey was the true family pet. Shadow was hit by a car when I was still pretty young.

There was a ditch across the dirt road from our house and early on winter mornings on the way to catch the bus, we’d check it for ice and see if we could stand on it, sure that we could skate the ditch to the bus stop. It never worked. Along Alma School rd (now Basha rd) where the bus stop was, ran a big canal, all the way up to about Germann rd. Some of those mornings the fog would rise off the canal and it looked like we lived in a fairy land. This canal was the source of many adventures as we grew. We fished in it for crawdads, collected the tiny shells that littered the banks, and of course the best, Bobby and Jamie would blow up Bobby’s raft (a 2 seater with oars) and try to ride the rapids. The bridges over the canal were a definite obstacle and decisions had to be made about whether the water was low enough to make it under the bridge (laying down, of course) or the bridge had to be grabbed and climbed over. It was high excitement!

The pasture between our house and Uncle Pete’s house held various animals over the years. My earliest memory is of Aunt Karen’s Shetland pony. After he passed, sometimes that pasture would be full of yearling thoroughbreds, for a while it held a big bull that we bred with our milk cow. Either way, it was a source of entertainment. The horses would somehow find a way to open the gate, and we’d have a stampede on our hands. (Megan admitted later that she occasionally opened the gate for them, just for the thrill.) It was awesome to watch Mom hop in the station wagon or van, Dad would show up in the truck, and they would chase those horses back to the pasture. Often a farm guy would come along to help so they could block all of the exits and get them turned around. We would watch from as close as we were allowed to without getting in the way. The bull was more of a dare kind of thing. Which of the boys would go into the pasture with him? Or, who was going to get the cattle prod and chase him out of the cow pen when he would jump the fence?

The boys had bunk beds in their room and loved to pull the mattresses off and jump or roll off the top bunk onto them. Jumping off the roof was at least as fun. Anything and everything was a possible tool for fun. Including the time that we had been making political signs for Mom’s run for the school board. We cleaned up all the paint with gasoline and Dad told Bobby to take care of it. We had a barrel for burning garbage across the road by the ditch. Bobby dumped the gas on top of the garbage and told me to get back. I went to the middle of the road. He backed up as far as he could and tossed in a match. A tower of flame shot up. His face and hair were burned pretty good and I swear that’s why I’ve never had full eyebrows since. Mom actually had to take him to the doctor for the burns on his face and Dad had a chat with him about fire safety. It didn’t stick.

There were a few neighbor kids whose parents worked for the farm around. Jamie liked to play football with them, but that was sometimes too much running for Bobby’s asthma. He liked to play spies and would sometimes let me help him, if I was really quiet. There was a weird bush in the front yard (where that pistachio tree is now) that grew so that it was really shaggy and bushy, but hollow underneath. It was also pretty scratchy, but there was one spot where it grew up a little around the bottom and you could crawl under then you could almost sit up, once you were in the bush. We would climb under there and spy on the other kids, pretending they were criminals or some sort of bad guys.

Another game the boys would play in the front yard was (completely politically incorrect) Smear the Queer. This was usually a game to play when lots of friends were over. They usually played with a football and one person would throw the ball up into the air for everyone else to try to catch. You would think that nobody would want to catch it, but it showed how tough you were if you did. Who ever caught the ball was the queer and all the other kids would then try to tackle them before they crossed a random line. Once you crossed the line, you were safe and got to be the one to throw the ball up for the crowd. Kick the Can was a game that the girls could play too. Eventually, the boys even wanted the girls to play with them, cute neighbor girls and friends anyway.  Kick the Can was like hide and seek, but the hiders tried to sneak back out and kick over a can that stood in the middle of the yard. If the seeker found you you were out, but if you kicked the can you would win the round and be the new seeker.

We never ran out of things to do, even though I’m sure we told Mom that we were bored so often she wanted to strangle us. We rarely walked to the Gonzales’s to see them. We would go in the backyard and climb the side of the play house, over the roof of the Gonzales’s shed, down through a hole in the roof and out the door. If we weren’t going to look for someone to play with, we were going to beg a butter tortilla from Frances. She made the best tortillas in the world and she made them every Friday for her family for the week. She eventually told us we had to pay a dime each for them, it was essentially like we were eating all their bread for the week. We saved our dimes as much as we saved money for the ice cream man.

One time, I remember we were going to Legend City with the Davis’s. Bobby and Von, always the jokers, emptied out some mustard containers and filled them with yellow yarn. They scared us all to death that they were going to squirt us with mustard and out shoots yellow yarn. Mom and Dad were in the front of the station wagon and Br. and Sr. Davis were in the middle seat, all of us kids piled into the back with Bobby and Von squirting us with fake mustard the whole way. I remember the log ride, but I think the car ride was even more fun. I’m pretty sure Bobby got Jamie later with some real mustard after he’d faked him out so many times.

I followed Bobby all around the farm. He and Jamie would tell me all kinds of stories. There were peacocks that wandered around when we were young. They told me that the wings of a peacock were so strong, they could kill a man. This may have something to do with my bird phobia. We would hunt for and collect the peacock feathers all over the place. Bobby once offered the little kids $5 apiece if they could bring him a little feather off the top of a peacock’s head.

We would head over to the camp (the other side of Alma School rd. Our side was the park.) to play in the cotton piles. We were not supposed to play in the whole cotton, it messed up the long staple that our cotton was known for, but of course we did. We would make tunnels in the cotton trailers that were probably about 10x10x20ft. Once the seeds were removed, no one cared if we played in the piles of seed. It wasn’t as soft, but it was still fun. They did tell us to be sure that no one got trapped under piles or bales of cotton.

We also headed for the barn for some activities. The horses were for racing, not riding, so we just petted them. The haystack at the back of the barn was the perfect place to play pretend, though. It was about 15 feet high and jumping off of it was the ultimate proof of coolness. This was probably exactly where our parents intended us to go when Bobby got ahold of a brick of firecrackers. We didn’t want them to hear us setting them off, so he headed to the back of the barn. We are so lucky that we didn’t catch the whole thing on fire.

Behind the barn was a treasure trove of scariness. The chute for loading horses (or giving them shots, or whatever) had a pole across the top where a lady had hung herself, not really of course, but “never let the truth get in the way of a good story.” There was a really old pontoon boat, haunted of course, and a haunted house, that once it was torn down, became the haunted foundation. Tractors were for climbing on and hoping that you could convince someone to take you for a ride. In the Fall, hay rides were the best. The boys would jump off the back of the trailer and “ski” behind it. Eventually, Bobby was the one driving the tractor.

Bobby always wanted spy sets or radios or something he could put together for his birthday or Christmas. When he didn’t have them, he’d find something else to take apart, just to see if he could put it back together again. He was so excited the year he got his telescope for Christmas. Of course, he was excited every Christmas. Every year, Mom would tell us that Christmas was going to be a little tight and not to get our hopes up too much for all of the things we wanted. Every year, one of the grandparents would slip Mom some extra money and we would at least get the big thing that we had asked for.

Every year, we would go to Grandma and Grandpa Bogle’s for Christmas Eve for chalupa and tamales. Grandma made the chalupa (with a little help usually) and she would buy tamales from one of the farm workers. We always got to open a present at her house, and it was usually pajamas to wear home. We always got one toy and pajamas from Grandma and Grandpa. We would play there with our cousins. Bobby was the oldest cousin and so he really preferred to play with Uncle Jacky (JC) or Dad’s cousin Bill.

On the way home, it felt like it was so late. We would search the skies for any sign of Santa Claus. Any airplane or helicopter was fair game. We were sure that we had seen Santa and that we had better hurry home and rush to bed so that he wouldn’t skip our house. We would all rush to bed and try to sleep, or not sleep, but listen for Santa. Bobby would usually wake up about 4:30 and come wake me up to go check out our stockings. He had tried to wake up Jamie first, but he was too tired. Jamie would hear us giggling and come out rubbing his eyes and asking if anything good was in our stockings. There was always a navel orange in the toe, some pecans or walnuts, chocolate, and some little toys or money. Our present from Santa was never wrapped, so we could obviously see it. Our stocking was usually next to it. We would dump them out, then refill them, so that Mom and Dad wouldn’t know what we’d done. We had to wait until at least 6:30 to wake them up. As they got older, it became 7, but I can’t remember a year that Bobby was at home that he didn’t wake up at 4:30. A couple more of the presents he loved were the raft that traveled the canal and a big Styrofoam remote control airplane.

We had chores too. Each of the kids had a night to clean the kitchen. That meant wash the dishes, including the pans, clean the counters, clean out the sink, and sweep the floor. Clean the kitchen meant clean the kitchen. Of course, we tried whatever we could to get out of it or put it off, but a dirty kitchen in the morning probably meant a swat with the belt. The boys had to keep their room and bathroom clean, but as they got older, their chores were more often outside. While I was inside whining about dusting or sweeping or mopping, they were out mowing the lawn or chopping weeds. Weeds had to be chopped from the garden, the yard, and the sides of the pastures across the street. Taking out the garbage was usually the boys’ job as well. One of our favorite (not) chores was milking the cow. She needed to be milked in the morning and at night and no one wanted the morning run before school. When she was in the pasture across the road, it was less of a deal, but then she was moved over to the barn. The boys would drive the station wagon over to the barn. Jamie decided he should teach me how to drive it too. I was about 8 and couldn’t reach the pedals, so he gave up.

Of course, during this time, the other kids were coming along. Elise in 1973, Merilee 1975, Emily 1977, Tom 1979, Chris 1982, Megan 1984, and Ty 1987.

I think about the time Bobby was 12, he got a job working on the cotton crew. This meant being out in the cotton field about the time the sun came up to chop weeds out of the cotton. Bobby would leave with Dad in the morning (during the summer). I think they usually got home a little after lunch and then showered and slept. Of course, whatever Bobby did, Jamie wanted to do too, so it wasn’t long before he was on the chopping crew as well. We were all taught to check the irrigation lines and restart any that had stopped. These were just curved, black plastic pipe that hung over the bank from the ditch to the field. With the right technique, they would draw the water from the ditch to the field. Probably around 14, Bobby started driving a tractor. He’d been driving a truck for a while, but the tractor was a big deal, plowed rows had to be straight, cotton that was being picked could not be wasted.

I’m honestly not sure what Bobby learned first, to drive a truck or a tractor, or to fly a plane. D-daddy had a cool flight simulator at the office that we loved to play with. The boys could drive the truck or car, as long as they avoided the paved roads. They sometimes had to run Dad out something that he’d forgotten, or a lunch if he couldn’t make it home. Dad had a phone in his truck long before normal people did. The first one actually looked like the old tan office phones. He was always out on the farm and it was helpful to be able to get ahold of him.

Bobby took his scout training very seriously. He learned to shoot, what knot to tie in what situation, how to survive in the wild, and he valued it all. I think he liked to watch the old show MacGyver and try to decide if he could have done the same things MacGyver did, or if he would have done them differently. We used to have a tether ball pole that was used to swing on when the tether ball went flat. The pole broke off near the base and just a little jagged bit stuck up from the ground. One day, when Mom and Dad were gone, I ran into it and cut my toe pretty badly. Bobby cleaned the wound, bandaged it up, elevated it (with about 8 pillows, I think) and when it still seemed to be bleeding, called Mom and Dad on the car phone. I think they were at the movies. The phone was set to honk the horn when it rang, and so they came out of the theater to a horn blaring across the parking lot. They rushed home, but Bobby had taken care of everything.

As Bobby got older, his adventurous spirit did not die, it expanded. He loved to emulate what he’d seen on tv. He may be the very reason for the phrase, “Do not try this at home.” Because he would. Dukes of Hazzard taught many great driving lessons and there were plenty of country roads to experiment on. The railroad tracks made the perfect ramp for jumping whether in town, or out. The 6-million Dollar Man jumped off many a building. Luckily, Chandler didn’t have many buildings that could cause too much damage. The guest house to the swimming pool at Grandma’s and the house to the trampoline worked as substitutes. I believe that fire ran a close second to the excitement of flying through the air.

Bobby was well ahead of me in school. I remember when the boys were going to John Hancock academy in Mesa, I was so sad and wanted to go to school too. It was 1974 and I was too young. Mom tried signing me up for preschool, but it wasn’t good enough. Eventually, she let me start kindergarten and I remember the song the boys would sing about the principal, to the tune of the Army song. “Over land, over sea, over Mr. Gaddy’s knee, there’s a wuppin a waitin for me. Might be red, might be blue, might be Mr. Gaddy’s shoe, there’s a wuppin a waitin for you.”

Soon we transferred to Erie school. Bobby was probably in 5^th or 6^th grade when I started. I remember they were just opening Willis Jr. High. Although we always rode the bus, I remember we used to be part of a car pool for seminary. We always wanted to go to Elmer’s for a rocket pop (the conical tri-color suckers). We would go downtown for the CHS homecoming parade, Maxwell Street days, eating at Serrano’s or Ortega’s, a 5 cent ice cream at Thrifty was a great treat. (That was even cheap for back then.) We loved to go to Dudding’s drug store, which we did a lot for Bobby’s meds, or anyone else’s. There were awesome gumball machines and a fortune telling scale. A night out to Bob’s Big Boy was pretty special. 

TMI

Hmmm, wow, this is really personal. I'm not at all sure that I should be putting this out there. Of course, if you've known me for more than 20 years you may or may not already know the basics. Obviously it has taken me a while to get here. I kept telling myself that I just didn't feel like blogging. Seriously, I just didn't feel like blogging this. Also, I only have about a quarter page after this written. It really does get better from here. This is just the biggest molehill we had hit so far and I've struggled with writing the rest. Really, (spoiler alert) this is the climax and from here the falling action is just a bunch of lovey dovey, let's get married crap.

Well, apparently I'm willing to sacrifice dignity for...wait, what is this for? Fame, fortune, no. My "craft", perhaps. Attention, maybe, but as I cringe, I'm guessing that's not it in this case anyway. I guess I just don't care all that much about my dignity. If you could not mention to my husband that I've thrown him under the bus as well, that would be great. So, here goes...

We’d come full circle, back to New Year’s Eve, although this time I was pretty sure I would have a date. I just had no idea how that date would end.

The big dance was to be held at Fiesta Mall in Mesa. The church, the institute, someone… had rented Fiesta Mall in order to keep our precious young adults off the streets on NYE. Of course, they’d gone to the best to dj the dance and our buddy Dennis performed admirably as always. He was there with his adorable wife, Alisa. They had been pretty wrapped up in each other and hadn’t really been on the single scene anymore, so we hadn’t seen them for a while. When we went up to say hi, David and I were holding hands. Dennis was in shock. I honestly don’t know how this could have slipped past him, but he really was surprised that we were dating. I’ll leave that to him to explain.

We hung out with our friends, danced, and wandered the open areas of the mall. Finally, a year later, I got that midnight kiss from the one person with whom I had hoped to share it.

We had a lovely evening and played and had fun. We seemed to be getting closer to each other with each passing minute, which is probably why now suddenly seemed like the time to talk about our feelings.

Oh, feelings. Why do they always have to get in the way? In my mind, we were getting pretty serious. I did now possess a ring that had “I love you, David ‘90” inscribed in it. I thought there was no way I could have a secret from this guy. I decided now was the time to tell him that I had kissed his friend while he was away. It wasn’t really a big deal, after all to quote a famous dork, “We were on a break!” However, I didn’t want that guy to know something that David didn’t.

We got to my house after the dance and sat in the car “talking” for a while. I finally mustered up the courage to tell him. He was upset and I was upset and then we laughed about it and kissed and made up.

Then he told me that he had something he wanted to tell me as well. Deep Breath! Did I remember back when that girl came to visit from Alaska? Um, well yes, I did. It was only a few months ago. Well, apparently there was a little more to the story that didn’t really seem all that relevant at the time. Apparently he may have sort of underestimated the time that they spent kissing. He felt really bad about it and was so sorry, and I cried.

Now what was I supposed to do? I had just told him that I had kissed one of his best friends, but it was when we weren’t even really dating. But of course, we broke up pretty much every other week. But we weren’t broken up when he kissed this girl. What did this mean for our relationship? Top all this info exchange with the fact that it is somewhere dark thirty in the am on New Year’s Day. What drama!

I am about to press enter and put this onto the interwebs like a crazy person. Here goes... 

Dental disaster

I read once (on another blog, whose writer was probably jealous of certain blogs that we all know and love) that "Mormon" blogs are so lame because they only show one side of life. They are always positive and never let the reader see that their lives are not perfect. (If you never read "Seriously, So Blessed" you should look and see if it's still up. I heard the writer stopped. It is a hilarious spoof on the Mormon blog)
I think I'm somewhere in the middle. I'm definitely far from perfect and don't try to appear so. However, I also think, who wants to listen to Debbie Downer all of the time? So I sometimes vent here and sometimes not.
Today was more frustrating than life.
A little history, when we moved to So Pho, we continued to go to our family dentist that we had for years. Things were fine. After moving to Chandler, we decided that Phoenix was a little far to drive to go to the dentist, especially considering the plethora of dentists here.
There is an awesome dentist in our ward. If anyone needs a dentist, go see Marshall Hanson at Fountains Family Dental. He rocks! David went to Dr. Hanson and had fabulous work done to repair some old dental work. He bought their firm insurance and paid about the same that our insurance would have required. It was a big job.
Anyway, I took the girls to Dr. Hanson. They love him just like everyone else does. He is very gentle and kind. Unfortunately, the insurance didn't make nearly the same dent in the cost of Lauren's 6 cavities and Emma's sealant that she needs. So, we had to find someone different.
I searched the listings on the insurance website. The few reviews that I could find for dentists on the list were not good. Most, I couldn't find anything about. The several dentists that I know where not on the list. Frustration! Finally, I found a pediatric dentist that had good reviews and called them to set up an appointment. During the phone call the receptionist pointed out that since they specialized, instead of the insurance paying 80%, they would pay 20%. This wouldn't work for me.
I started looking again. I finally found a dentist that I hadn't noticed before, right down the street. I made the appt. We waited 2 weeks for Lauren to get home from Utah.
This morning we got up and went to the dentist. I sat filling out sheet after sheet of paper work. I talked to the receptionist about the insurance that we have. We had discussed it on the phone. SRP uses Delta and EDS. We have EDS. I'm not sure how this became confusing. Lauren is now in the chair, getting xrays and finding out that in the past 3 months, even more cavities have developed.
The receptionist calls EDS and while they are partners with the parent company, this dentist is not in their network. Somehow, I managed to get their address and phone number from my insurance web site, but they will not pay for the dental work. I pay for the work they have done so far on Lauren, but she still has a mouth full of cavities, Emma still doesn't have sealants, and I still have to go home and find ANOTHER different dentist for them to go to, all in the 2 weeks before school starts. I really wanted to punch someone in the face!

What does it all mean?

So, I'm back from Utah. Except that I've actually been back for over a week. Instead of staying up in Koosharem for the 4th, we thought that my mom had a heart attack and came home on the 26th. So we've been spending time with the rest of the family that came to town and fighting with Mom to not overdo, when she is a classic overdoer.

Well, I think I will post the next installment of the David saga.

In my family, we have always gotten together with the extended Bogle family on Christmas Eve and then had a quieter Christmas at home and visiting my Pickering grandparents. After Grandpa Pickering died, Grandma would usually come to our house, or even sometimes come to dinner at Grandma and Grandpa Bogle’s. This was a big to-do. All of the cousins that lived in town and often the ones who didn’t would gather for a traditional Mexican dinner of tamales and chalupa. I’m not exactly sure where our chalupa comes from, but it is heaven. Start with a base of corn tortilla chips, top with the chalupa (pork, pinto beans, and green chili) and all the fixings, cheese, lettuce, tomato, avocado, salsa, sour cream. Later in the evening, Grandma would bust out the ice cream cake from Baskin Robbins. Every year, without fail, this was Christmas Eve dinner. This year, I had let my Grandma know that I would have a guest coming with me. Oh My Gosh! (To paraphrase The Fantastic Mr. Fox, It’s kind of a big deal, so don’t just say okay.) This was David meeting my entire family. Think My Big Fat Greek Wedding except in a parallel universe where everyone is kind of midwesternish and less dancy.

Now would probably be the time to mention the missing member of my family. My older brother, the one who had teased me and tormented me and overprotected me from other boys, was in the army, stationed in Germany. We were in a constant state of waiting to hear if he was deployed to fight against Saddam Hussein. His wife and daughter were with him, probably wondering a lot more than we were. At least I didn’t have to worry about anyone commenting on the size of my plate in relation to the size of other things.

In my opinion, the evening at Grandma and Grandpa’s went well. We had the traditional tearing into the presents from relatives. Grandma wrapped up a bag full of pistachios for David. He seemed appreciative. I’m sure my Grandma wondered about that too, what to gift this boy who really hadn’t been defined as yet. Of course, I knew that we grew pistachios and we had the same giant box full in our cupboard at home that my grandparents did. But hey, she did wrap it up in a gift bag.

Afterwards, we got to the big show. David and I went out on our own. I gave him his beautiful box (that I had pain-stakingly rewrapped). And he gave me a bag. I pulled out a big white teddy bear. Kind of typical. Kind of boring. Kind of wearing a ring.

No, not that kind of ring! But a ring none the less.

It was a gold band, a pinky ring, with “♥ I love you, David ‘90” engraved inside. Well, let the wondering begin! What did this mean? Or did it mean anything? It was definitely time to talk.

We’d come full circle, back to New Year’s Eve, although this time I was pretty sure I would have a date. I just had no idea how that date would end. 

Holidays are fun!

Well, we're headed off to Utah for a while so this is the last installment for about 10 days or 2 weeks, whichever comes first.

So, about a week later, we’re at his sister Karen’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. Everything was going swimmingly, ya, that’s a good word, swimmingly. His family was all very nice. Of course, I’d already met his Mom and Dad spending time at their house. (Actually meeting them for the first time has dissolved from my memory.) Now I got to meet his older sister and her 6 kids. She had just had a baby about a week and a half before, and was now hosting Thanksgiving dinner at her house. Ya, that’s not intimidating. David’s other sister was in rehab at the time.

I held the baby and enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner. New for me, to have stuffing with nuts in it and things just slightly skewed from the traditional dinner I was used to and had never experienced with another family before. The little kids ran all over the house. This part was my element, having 7 younger siblings myself. It was all very family and holiday. David was sweet and I was happy.

Now, you can see that our holiday history was sort of hit and miss and of course we had the biggie right around the corner. “Christmas is coming the goose is getting fat.” My dad loved to sing this little ditty and remind me of the way I would sing it as a little girl. “Tristmas is toming, the doose is detting fat.”  This year, I stressed about what to do with this semi-permanent boyfriend. I thought things were getting more serious, but I had thought that before. What do you get for the person you want to spend every minute for time and all eternity with? And what is he going to read into it? And what will he get me? (Not that he has to get me anything.) And what will it mean? I finally decided to get David a nice, brand-name sweatshirt. I put everything I felt about our relationship into the packaging. I picked out a nice, masculine, striped wrapping paper. I gently wrapped tissue around the article inside the crisp, square box. I lined up the stripes so that they matched perfectly, wrapped ribbon around, and attached a large bow. It was perfect.

One day, I came home from work at the local radio shack to find my beautiful present destroyed. The story was that my little brother had unwrapped the present because it was so pretty. (He was about 8. Something was fishy and I didn’t really buy it, but the parallels with my relationship were pretty eerie. I just hoped that this was not foreshadowing. 

Oh we just love the drama!

So, life went on with David and me going to movies, dancing, hanging out with friends, etc. And by etc, I mean there was some kissing going on. We were a little old fashioned. Exclusive dating meant that a kiss goodnight was once again a part of the plan. We were actually pretty good at this part and thought that practice would make us even better. We were right. We would practice at his house, my house, in his driveway, my driveway, but perhaps my favorite was the stop light kiss. The implication, of course, was that we couldn’t stand to not kiss, even long enough to drive down the street. David was actually quite good at knowing how long a stop light would last. We only got honked at once or twice.

As the holidays approached, David told me that a friend of his from his mission in Alaska was coming to visit. He would need to spend a little time with her, yes, her.

Long Pause.

I could be an understanding girlfriend. After all, we were in a loving, somewhat committed relationship, right? I was the one invited to spend Thanksgiving with him and his family at his sister’s house. I really, really tried to think positive thoughts, and not so much about the rocky past of our relationship. Unfortunately, the brain will have thoughts that the mind does not want to have.

On the Friday night that David was supposed to spend with “Alaska girl”, (shouldn’t there be a rule against the Friday night friend visit?) I ended up staying home. (Somehow, asking why we couldn’t all just hang out together never crossed my mind.) Later, that evening, a little before 10 o’clock, David called to tell me that he’d taken her home, and asked if he could come over. Silly, naïve me, took this for a good sign, my sweet boyfriend wanted to hang out with me and had taken this intruder home early.

Of course, I agreed that David should come over and when he arrived, we went for a walk outside. I lived in a little agricultural enclave where tamarisk and eucalyptus trees grew at least 80 feet tall and the old redneck joke about turning off the paved road definitely applied. It was a perfect place for a moonlit walk.

We held hands and walked and talked. David seemed a little nervous, but I didn’t really think too much about it. After some small talk, he turned to me very seriously and told me that he needed to tell me something.

I can’t really remember the conversation, I’m pretty sure I’ve blocked it from my memory. The gist was that “Alaska girl” had kissed him and he hadn’t really tried to stop her very quickly. I couldn’t decide if this was dubious or devastating. Did I believe that this stranger had gone in for the kiss? Was the fact that he had fallen for it a deal-breaker? Should it matter that he had felt the need to come right over to confess? Somewhere in the back of my head I remembered that I had kissed someone that David didn’t know about either. Would that make it easier to forgive him? Did that even count, seeing as how we were “on a break”? Was forgiving him what he was looking for? Would the heart-pounding, heart-stopping contradiction of emotions ever calm?

Evidently, forgiveness was what he was looking for because he was apologizing profusely. I’m pretty sure that I cried, although like I said, it’s all pretty hazy. I’m pretty sure he cried too, because he’s good like that. 

I heart the Ice Cream Nazi

So on the way back from camp, with Megan, Lauren, Emma, and Matti in the car, we decided to stop for a little bit in Pine. The Strawberry festival was going on and we couldn't resist. We were all in pajama pants, hadn't showered, probably didn't smell very good, and didn't really care.

The girls headed off to see what they could see while Meg and I spent a few minutes drooling over the cutco knives. They returned after a few minutes searching for kettle corn money.

We headed off to see what else was around, specifically a bathroom, as we'd been using port-a-johns for the last 4 days.

We happened upon a place called "Tornado Fries".

This is pretty much what it looked like. It reminded me of one of my favorite fair foods ever (which Elise knows the true name of) that are best doused with malt vinegar and salt. Well, they didn't have vinegar, but they had a wide variety of flavored salts, including vinegar flavored. While I rushed off to find a restroom, the girls decided to make it a sampler with a variety of the different salts. Later, I tried it and was underwhelmed. The potatoes were thicker and softer than I was expecting, which was more the original curly chips, like this:

butterfly fries, picture by ljc@flickr

So the girls are eating the lame-o tornado potato and we head down to the infamous delicious homemade ice cream shop. We pause to read the myriad of signs on the door, including one that says something to the effect of, No sodas, not even cans, we sell soda here. Ok, none of us has a drink, so I figure, we're good, and we head inside. The girl behind the counter immediately starts asking Lauren about the potato on a stick. "Where did you get it?" "That's so cool." "Is it good?"

Then the little old lady comes out from the back room. She pats Lauren on the shoulder and says, "Honey, I'm gonna give you a tip. You don't take food from one establishment into another. Just a little tip for you."
I'm thinking, "There is a festival going on outside your door. You do not sell fries, potatoes, or anything other than ice cream and desserts. I'm buying ice cream for everyone in my group. How does this potato affect you?" I didn't think it was quite like having my kid bring her happy meal into dinner at McCormick & Schmick. But, I bit my tongue.

Then the people next to us were discussing buying ice cream for their grandson, who couldn't eat the cone. They said, "We'd like one scoop of strawberry in a bowl, please." She replied, "Do you want to get the child's cone? It's smaller and cheaper." They responded, "Well, he can't eat the cone, but..." Ice Cream Nazi interjects, "That wasn't the question."

I'm thinking, Well, it kind of was the question. If you're gonna get all up in their face, be more specific with your line of questioning.

photo-Terry Richardson's Diary

So, I still got strawberry ice cream and it was good. Everyone else seemed to enjoy theirs as well, but I'm wondering if it was worth the degradation.

I need to look and see if that shop from (wait for it, Megan) Mystic, Connecticut takes online orders.

Aaahh, camp!

I chose this picture specifically because you can't really see any faces and I don't need anyone's permission. I just wanted to write a little blurb about what I did last week. 

In April I was thoroughly enjoying myself teaching a little class at church and avoiding anything really hard. Right before my birthday, the Bishop called me in and asked if I'd be the new young women's president, since ours was moving away.

I had carefully avoided being asked to go to girls camp, knowing that camping in tents was a little more "back to nature" than I really wanted to get. Apparently, avoidance was no longer an option and I was going to Long Valley, AZ with 9 first years, 3 second years, one 3rd year,  2 4th yrs who would join us later, and 6 ycls (youth camp leaders) who would wave to us as they walked by with their charges. One of the newbies and one of the ycls were my very own girls.

Everyone told me that it would be cold and possibly wet. I continually checked the weather channel app on my phone. I bought a new sleeping bag, I took a blanket and extra socks. 

There was a very dedicated lady called as Camp Director and a super organizer called as Food Specialist. I even managed to finagle it so that my little sister went with me. (ok, Meg, it wasn't really me who sent you there, but I was sure glad you were there.) These people ran things, and I was just there as a warm body to help corral girls and put away dishes.

Driving to camp, listening to loud music, I started to think this might actually be fun. We were pumped and the girls were all so sweet. I felt sure I could handle this. I didn't even notice that backs of my hands burning under the windshield as I drove.

When we got to camp, everyone pitched in to help get set up. All of the girls were so cooperative and helpful. I was in heaven! We sat down in the cool mountain air to eat the lunches we had packed. It didn't phase me in the least that we were the last ward to arrive, the last camp set up, and had the most girls. We finished our lunches in plenty of time to show up for orientation, and I was happy!

After dinner, we went out to a little stage in the woods and enjoyed a presentation, silly camp songs and all. I noticed that it was starting to get a little chilly, but not really a big deal with my nice warm hoodie on. I did talk to a dear friend of mine who had gone up the day before to help get camp ready. She had frozen the night before and hadn't slept at all. I thought, "This poor dear must not have a super, low-rated, xl sleeping bag like mine. I'll let her use my blanket tonight so that she can get some sleep. Ah, warm feeling inside.

By the time we got back to camp and cheerily prepared for bed, the warm feeling had dissipated and I was feeling cold. The thought of changing into pajamas was a bit daunting. I put on my warmest jammie pants, a long sleeve shirt, put my hoodie back on and thought about how wonderful it was that someone had sent up some hand warmers for us to use. 

I climbed into my xl sleeping bag and quickly realized that a mummy bag is not designed for an xl woman. I could barely zip the zippers up all the way around my shoulders and it was difficult to move. Not only that, but  my face was freezing when it was exposed to the air and I couldn't breathe when my face was inside the bag! The hand warmer did keep what ever part of me it was touching warm, but that was about it. Someone had suggested putting our clothes for the next day in the bottom of our sleeping bag to keep them warm. They were cold.

Although I was told later that I may have snored, just a little bit, it felt like I didn't sleep at all. I got up some time in the middle of the night to go to the lovely porta-john. It was a wee bit cold. Teeth chattering, I headed back to the tent, rummaged through my suitcase and put on another pair of pajama pants and another hoodie, then crawled back into my tight sleeping bag. It didn't help AT ALL. I did figure out around this time that if I slid way down into my bag, I could curl up in a ball and turn. Somehow, the middle of the bag was wider, like it was built for a very slender, yet pregnant person. However, I still had that claustrophobic, lack of breathing problem. So it was defrost face inside sleeping bag, lower bag, gasping for air and freeze, hide back inside bag.

In the morning I wondered how I would ever survive the day after having gotten no sleep at all. Line dancing for morning exercises did not improve my mood. I don't know what it is, I just cannot bring myself to line dance. I think being one child of 10 makes my desire for individuality overly strong. 

Back in camp, clean clothes and pancakes for breakfast cheered me up somewhat. I decided to go on the 1st year hike. Seeing as how we had 9 1st years and it would be the easiest hike, it seemed like the thing to do. We set off with our packed lunches, water bottles, and scriptures (mine on my ipod, because David never did find mine).

It was a lovely hike, more of a nature walk, really. We walked down the road for about half an hour, stopped to eat lunch, play games, and read scriptures then followed the ravine back to camp. The best reason to go on this hike is, that now I qualified for a shower. I waited for most of the girls to finish, which meant that my shower was rather cold, but a little longer than most and quite refreshing. 

As the afternoon wore on, I started to worry about how I would cope with another freezing cold night of no sleep. I think I forgot to mention that in the morning several of the girls thought that the hand-washing water spigot was broken. When they asked one of the men in camp to fix it, he quickly realized that the actual problem was the water was frozen. It was COLD!!!

I managed to get a hold of 3 hand warmers and a tip to slide them between 2 pairs of socks, plus an extra sleeping bag that I unzipped and tried to share with Megan. In my sleep addled brain I managed to steal the whole thing apparently. I put on an extra long sleeve shirt and wore my fleece headband to bed. I slept like a BABY, the ones that sleep all night long and are really warm. It was beautiful and I felt eternally grateful to all who had participated in assisting me toward that goal.

The day before we had found out that some of our newbies were also cold during the night. One of the actual camp leaders went to find out what the problem was. One of the girls hadn't actually gotten into her sleeping bag and one had forgotten the ever-so-important sleeping mat that had been strongly suggested to bring. She tried to rearrange the girls so that they could sleep better and perhaps later than the 5am they had woken up the first morning.

She must have succeeded somewhat, because when I got up about 6:15, they were still asleep. I crawled back into my bag and slept for another hour. 

This day I had volunteered to drive some of the older girls out to their hike site. I figured this way I could get to a store to purchase more hand warmers and whatever else might keep me warm. When I got back after dropping them off, I found one of our girls had gotten sick. We stewed about what to do and decided to have the young lady call and talk to her parents to make a decision. I left the other leaders to deal with this issue as I headed off to town and to pick up my 3rd years.

At the gas station I ended up at, I got more cups for the camp, hand and foot warmers for myself, Emma, and Lauren (I completely forgot about Megan. What a jerk!) They also had a hat with ear flaps, which I snatched up, and some sprite for my little sicky.

By the time I got back to camp, I found that she had already gone home. I gave Lauren and Emma their warmers. Emma was wrapped up in Megan's blanket, she had apparently lost hers (it turned up later in the bottom of her sleeping bag.) She asked Megan if she could borrow her blanket and Megan replied, "Sure, if your mom will give me the extra sleeping bag. AAagghhh! Now I'm either a terrible mom and a mean sister or a popsicle! I took the nice, warm sleeping bag and put it over Emma and her newbie neighbor, returned Megan's blanket and borrowed another extra sleeping bag. Unfortunately, this one was a mummy bag and unzipping it would have done nothing. I laid it sideways across Meg and I and told her to skooch in. She replied, "Hey did you remember to pick up hand warmers in town?" I swallowed  and said, "Yep." I handed her my extra pair of hand warmers (Sorry Megan, but it is true. I had bought myself two sets. I am awful!) 

I settled in, prepared to freeze. Luckily this was the warmest night so far. Thank Heaven! It was very cold, and I woke up a lot, but I did get some sleep and was comforted that the morning would involve taking down camp and heading home for a warm shower and a warm bed.

Aaahhww, girls camp!

Ahh, love.

The next day, David called. He asked about Matt and how we knew each other. I told him that ever since I met Matt in the line to buy student season tickets for the BYU football games, I felt like I had known him forever. He was just one of those people that you’re pretty sure you knew in the pre-existence. We went dancing a lot in UT, but hadn’t dated. I had given him a watch for Christmas, and he had given me a sweater. Not really a big deal. (Sort of) He also sang When in Rome’s “The Promise” to me once in the café when he had hurt my feelings somehow, but I didn’t mention that, right then. During this very phone call, David told me that he thought we shouldn’t see other people anymore. We should be exclusive. Hmm, funny how things change! I didn’t even go out with this guy, but I got an extreme feeling of goose/ganderism going on.

However, when it boiled right down to it, being exclusive with David was exactly what I wanted. So, I agreed. David began this silly little game of telling me that he really “liked” me, and in fact, maybe even “loked” me (a cross between love and like, of course). The “loke” joke went on for what seemed like ever. I was pretty well smitten by this time and could quite easily acknowledge to myself that I was head over heels in love with David. There was no way, no how, no siree that I was ever going to admit that to him unless he said it first. I was a 1^st class chicken, maybe even a little bit burnt.

After many conversations about this, one night he broke down and actually said it. Something like, “Monique, I’m pretty sure that I do actually sort of love you.”

My response, “What did you say?”

“I said that I love you.”

Now, suddenly, after months of up and down and back and forth and joy and pain and sunshine and rain (Oh, wait, I got off track there.) Anyway, now it was really awkward to be in this situation of, for the first time ever in my life, telling someone that I was not related to that I loved them.

“Oh, um, (suddenly my throat is very dry and my heart is racing), uh, I think I love you too.”

Mixed up

Just to clarify, we're getting back to the story and things that happened over 20 years ago. 

Now of course would be the perfect time for David to meet a new girl. He called one night and told me that he hoped that I wouldn’t be too upset, but he really thought that we were getting too serious and that we should see other people. Of course, I was not going to act upset in front of him, but I’m pretty sure I cried myself to sleep again that night. I was well aware that “see other people” was code for “I met a girl.” Sure enough, it wasn’t long before David told me that he had a date with a girl named Aisha. Who names their kid Aisha, anyway? What kind of stupid name is Aisha? (Sorry if your name is Aisha. Unless you happen to be about 37 and from Gilbert, AZ. Then, I’m not sorry! Your name is stupid, and so are you.) David then informed me that he didn’t want to hide anything from me and he would be telling me about any other girl he went out with. Was this some bizarre form of torture, or just a way of eliminating future baby girl names?

David and I still went out. Kissing was off again. I was very annoyed.

About 2 weeks later, I got a call from a friend of mine from BYU. His name was Matt. Matt was currently serving a mission in Arkansas. Missionaries aren’t really supposed to call people other than their families on Mother’s Day and Christmas. Matt and I had been very good friends during the short semester that I had stayed at Brigham Young University before I got chased away by the cold. We never dated, but I can’t say it hadn’t crossed my mind. Shockingly, he had shown some interest in dating Mary, but she didn’t return the sentiment. Since I’d left, we had exchanged several letters. He even sent me a very sweet valentine. We had also made “the bet”. You know, the one where if you’re not married by the time I get home from my mission I owe you dinner, if you are married, you owe me and a girl of my choice dinner. I never did buy him dinner. Anyway, Matt must have been feeling lonely, because he called me and we were having a great time, chatting away, breaking mission rules. He told me about tracting and ticks and chiggers, and I laughed and missed him a lot. About 9pm, David called. I answered the other line and told him I was on the phone, but I would call him back when I got off. Ten o’clock, David called back. I asked if he would still be up in an hour and he asked who I was on the phone with. I told him about Matt and that he was on a mission so he was calling long distance and I would call him back if he wanted me to. He said, “Don’t worry about it.” And I went back to my conversation with Matt. About 11, David called to say that he was still up if I was off the phone. I wasn’t. I told him I would call him in the morning. Matt and I hung up about 12 and I went to bed in high spirits after a fun conversation with a good friend.

Happy 20th Anniversary!

I looked at the next section of "the story" to see if I could post that today for our anniversary. I'm just gonna go with, no. So, we'll stick with this adorable picture of the super-hot guy that I married 20 years ago today. It's been an adventurous 20 years. We have some beautiful kids and some crazy memories. I do wish you hadn't shaved your head though. Look how gorgeous that hair is! 

Just a few things I love about you:

1. I love your blue/green eyes.

2. I love how much you love your daughters.

3. I love how much they love you.

4. I love unannounced back rubs.

5. I love that you are dedicated to your job.

6. I love that you will spontaneously break out into dance.

7. I love when you hold my hand.

8. I love your voice.

9. I love that you do the dishes when I make dinner.

10. I love that you like to surprise me.

11. I love that you like to watch sytycd.

12. I love when you flare your nostrils.

13. I love that you love your parents.

14. I love that you wear the blue, flowered tie I bought you.

15. I love that you read my books.

16. I love that you look really good in blue, and red, and green, and gray, and brown and salmon.

17. I love when you get silly.

18. I love that you clean when you are mad.

19. I love that you like my cooking.

20. I love that you love me!

Angry

In July, my parents wanted me to drive up to our cabin in Pinetop and bring some things home for them. I asked if some friends could come along. They were probably a little worried, but by this time, I was 20 years old and so they agreed. Of course, I asked Mary, and I asked David if he wanted to come and bring a friend. His cousin agreed to come along and we all set off. I’m sure that this trip was a mistake from the get-go, although it was all rather innocent. I think I’ve blocked most of it from my memory. I remember playing checkers in the Arizona room (screen porch), and then I remember standing out at the wood pile, chucking wood as hard as I could into the shed (where it wouldn’t get wet in the winter time). I don’t really remember what made me so mad, but I’m pretty sure that David was not behaving how I expected him to. He did come out to the wood pile to see what was wrong, and apologized for whatever he might have done to upset me. The fact that he didn’t know made me even madder, and I just kept right on heaving that wood into the shed. He practically (but not actually) dragged me back inside and spent a while trying to cajole me out of my bad mood.

By the time we got home from that ill-fated trip, I was pretty sure it was time to break up again. This time, I was really angry and didn’t want an insensitive jerk for a boyfriend anyway! I told him so and he spent the next several weeks trying to prove me wrong. He would drive down to visit me at my big Radio Shack job and drive several miles out of his way to get the good mint hot chocolate at AM/PM. (This was pre- Starbucks.) We would hang out and talk. He would offer me back rubs, which who can turn down? He was attentive, sweet, and still gorgeous and eventually we made up and were dating again. Oh yeah, and his eyes were blue when he was playful and green when he was passionate.


ps. The April 29 post photo has been updated to more accurately reflect the subject matter.


pps. Hopefully I'll get a good post on here tomorrow for our, wait for it... 20th anniversary!

Drama!

This post is part of the story of David and I, but it is really about this little boy who is now married and has a little boy of his own, plus one on the way.

My youngest brother, Tyson was about 3 years old at this time. This is only weird if you’re not Mormon. Ty was my little angel. Due to an odd number of girls living at home at the time, and me getting really annoyed with some of my sisters’ sleeping habits (e.g. leaving the light on or sleeping with the radio on. You know who you are!) Ty and I shared a bedroom. Being the tiny little boy that he was, sometimes he would still wake up in the middle of the night and want his Mommy. At first, when he woke up crying, I would take him to my Mom’s bedroom and drop him off. Eventually, it just became way easier to have him crawl into bed with me. He was my little buddy.

One day, my parents had taken several of the kids over to Grandma’s house to go swimming. Mom had gone inside and Dad was outside with the kids. He hollered to the kids that it was time to get out of the pool and get cleaned up. Ty obviously thought that “get cleaned up” meant to wander around with a towel on your head. Meanwhile, Dad was having a conversation with Grandpa and completely missed Ty wandering into the pool. The towel on his head silenced the splash, and down he went. After a couple of minutes, Dad started looking around for Tyson and found him on the bottom of the pool. The paramedics were called and Ty was air-evac-ed to Good Samaritan Hospital in Phoenix. My parents called me at Radio Shack where I was working at my glamorous job. Freaking out, I raced home.

Mom and Dad were rushing to get everything settled so they could head up to Phoenix to be with Tyson. My dad knew that David lived right down the street from the hospital and asked me if I would call him to go over and give Ty a blessing right away. I did and he did. He and his dad went over and gave Ty a blessing and waited for my parents to arrive (we lived about ½ hour away from the hospital, in good traffic). We were all grateful to have a contact so close and available to be of assistance to our little boy.

That night, David came over and picked me up to go out. Ty was still in the hospital, but he was recovering well. We decided to go to Mary’s and watch a movie with her and her boyfriend. At the time, I had no idea what the movie, The Abyss, was about. Well, as these people began to purposely drown themselves with liquid oxygen, I began to sob. Of course, they weren’t dying, but they could have, and so could my little brother. Luckily, I had a shoulder to cry on attached to a very handsome face. I really couldn’t take watching that movie anymore, so we left. Much snuggling followed. Tyson came home the next day with no lasting damage, but a cool story to tell about how he almost drowned when he was 3 years old.

New moon or some serious moonlight

There will be no alternating blog subjects this week. I have had a little on my plate this week. I am also not changing the photo on my last post yet, either. I am also not going to explain the title and photo that are attached to this post. Apparently I'm a little defiant today! Let's just say that there were some overly mushy conversations going on that just sound silly when written down, but were oh, so dreamy at the time.

Aleruaro/Getty Images/SambaPhoto

Around this time, I’m pretty sure that the kissing issue came up again. I really enjoyed kissing David, and he seemed to have a good time as well. Unfortunately, that little talk about not getting serious kept popping up in the back of my head. One night, Mary and I went to a dance in Scottsdale, David asked if we wanted to “swing by” his house in downtown Phoenix afterwards to say hello since he had some reason he couldn’t go that night. Of course, we did go by. David was being silly and referring to himself as Charlie Brown, since he was so “wishy-washy”. I told him that I didn’t think I should kiss someone who was wishy-washy, and so, he kept trying to kiss me. I resisted, turned away, laughed, and was dying inside. I wanted to kiss that boy so badly, but I didn’t love his terms, which seemed to be that as long as I was the one there, he wanted to be with me, but he wasn’t really sure that he might not want to be with a different girl on another night. Not cool!

In June, David went with his family up to their house in Koosharem, UT. He planned to be gone for about three weeks. Ugh, loneliness! He informed me that he would write to me, if I would write to him. I could just address the letters to him Koosharem, UT 84604 and they would get there. I thought this was crazy and couldn’t fathom the small town where this would be sufficient address. He called me a few times and talked about sweet, romantic nothings like how if I walked outside, we would be looking at the same moon. He told me that his family didn’t have a phone at their UT house and he would have to walk down to the store and call from the pay phone (actually true), so we couldn’t talk for very long. He told me he missed me, and asked me on a date for the evening he got back. Of course, our mutual friend called to remind me of my incessant stupidity. He asked what I was doing on Saturday night, and I was so pleased to tell him that David had called from UT to ask me on a date.

Now by this time, I was going on the silly assumption that David knew that if he kissed me, it would mean something to me. Why I didn’t pick up from the Charlie Brown conversation that this had become a game to him, I’ll never know. So, of course we kissed, and I was right back where I started. Head over heels for a guy who really didn’t know what he wanted.

Meanwhile, I’m still spending my days back and forth between school at MCC and work at Radio Shack. By now I had pretty much figured out that I was the “token girl” at Radio Shack. If you don’t believe me, go down there right now. Every single store has one woman who works there. She doesn’t have to know the difference between a diode or a capacitor, but she will not be fired. I’ve never checked it out, but I’m sure there must have been a lawsuit in the past. Since I was pretty much irrelevant at my job, I would spend my time stocking shelves and changing the radio station. Somehow my alternative music tastes seemed to adjust quite well to the moldy oldies and mellow love songs in my current state of mind. “I’d Really Love to See You Tonight” usually played daily and fit my mood, if not my actual feelings. The lyrics, “I won't ask for promises, So you don't have to lie.” felt so very real in my situation. Of course, my heart was screaming out, “Don’t lie, just love me and only me!” Okay, I’m not talking about moving in, at least not until after we’re married, and of course I don’t want to change your life, well, except for the for time and all eternity part, of course. But there is definitely some warm wind and stars and I sure do want to see you tonight.

Happy Birthday to me!

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The next day, my “friend” called to warn me again about how unwise it was for me to continue seeing David. He taught me a new phrase, “burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice, shame on me.” I had really never heard it before, but I wasn’t completely sure that it was inaccurate. Of course, it didn’t really change anything about my feelings.

David came home from LV brimming with talk about a girl named Jacque. I hated her already. Until I found out that she was probably about to be engaged to good ol’ Scott. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to meet this sweet girl (who probably would not be cool with her fiancé bowling every Saturday).  For the next few weeks, David and I saw each other at dances and would often get together for a movie. We had a lot of laughs watching “Joe vs. the Volcano” together and David took to referring to himself as a “flibber-de-jibbit”. This didn’t really do my heart any good, but what is a girl to do?

Meanwhile, my birthday was fast approaching, May 1^st, May Day. I had always LOVED my birthday and looked forward to it with child-like glee. David began telling me stories of how he had always tried to buy people’s love, like, with a Guess jacket for a former girlfriend or ruby earrings for another one. He was so glad to have a relationship with a girl who he felt so comfortable with that he didn’t have to buy her affections. Hmmm!?. How to take that? Was I really that wonderful friend, everybody feels close to, or was he just being cheap because I wasn’t really all that important?

My birthday rolled around and David showed up with a gift, inside I found a mission journal and filler. Let me ‘splain. If you’re not LDS, when a young Mormon decides to go on a church mission, one of the things that they take with them is a “mission journal” to record all of their experiences. Boys generally go on their missions when they are 19 and girls can go after they turn 21 if they choose. (Remember, David getting home from his mission in Alaska?) My friend Mary and I had discussed the possibility and actually attended Mission prep classes on Sunday. I’m sure I told David about this, and this was his response. My mom and one of my aunts both seemed to think that this was a great idea. I was not so sure. It sounded good and positive, but also scary and long. However, back to the present. I was not quite sure how to take being given a missionary journal by the boy that I wanted to spend all of my time with. We actually started to talk seriously about things and he reiterated his feelings of fear about a serious relationship. He shared with me that he could really see us being together for a long time, but he wasn’t ready for that. He was hoping that if I decided to go on a mission, maybe he would be ready to be together by the time I got back. That didn’t really sound logical to me.