fall photo flop

I am not sure why, but I am sort of attached to the idea of getting some "Fall Photos" of my kids. I am drawn in by the loveliness of colorful, crunchy leaves, maybe. For whatever reason, I have taken some of my favorite photos of my children in the fall (I've done it every year since G was born), and I was determined to keep this tradition going.

Well.

Doesn't this picture just scream, "Fall is so beautiful! We are a happy family! We love each other!"?


No?

What about this one?


Hmm. Not so much? Maybe this?


Hahaha, oh George, you are killing me. It's nice that I can laugh about this now because let me assure you that I wasn't exactly laughing at the time.

The story is this: It was a pretty Fall day. A bit chilly, but I didn't know how many more days we'd have with leaves and no snow, so when I had an open afternoon I decided to quickly rush the kids over to the park to snap a few pictures. Pearl was already wearing something that I thought was fine for the pictures, but I needed George to change because he had a Superman shirt on that had short sleeves. Plus, Superman wasn't exactly the look I was going for.

George was not happy about having to change his shirt. I mean, he really wasn't happy. I can almost always reason with him, and he honestly never throws tantrums. But he was unhappy about changing his shirt and he let me know it. We sort of worked it out (or so I thought) and I told him that I would just take a couple of pictures with him in the shirt I wanted and then he could put his Superman shirt back on. There weren't any tears, and only mild protests continued, so we forged on to the park. I even sang some of my best Michael Jackson to George in the car to get him to crack a smile. It only sort of worked.

We got to the park and I sat the kids down in some leaves by a tree. I backed away to start snapping like normal and noticed that George would NOT wipe the tormented expression off of his face. You guys, I take a lot of pictures of that boy. I have NEVER not been able to get him to cooperate even for just one or two shots. He wasn't budging. I started out being nice, tried getting silly, and then got frustrated. I went over to him and firmly held his arms so he would look at me in the eyes. He pulled his arms away in rebellion and accidentally smacked Pearl (who was sweetly and perfectly sitting next to him) in the face. She started to cry and I yelled at George and picked up Pearl. I almost never yell at him and rarely even raise my voice at him, so this really hurt his feelings and he lost it and began sobbing. I calmed Pearl down and then attempted another conversation with George, but he was still pretty heartbroken. He just kept saying, "You hurt my feeeeelinnngssss!" The first picture on this post was snapped at this point.  Oh the drama of it all. This one was right after Pearl had calmed down. You can still see the remnants of her tears.


He did finally calm down but he continued to really have difficulty putting on a happy face. He was seriously cracking me up though because he was really in a bad mood and did NOT want to appear happy, but he knew I meant business. So he'd be like this one second:


And then I'd pull out my youhadbetterlistentomeNOW voice and he'd instantly do this:


Seriously!

It was honestly hysterical how fast he could pull out that smile for one photo and then put it right back away. Like so:


Oh, the grumpiness, little George. Pearl was happy though.



This is a bad picture of Pearl, but I have to post it because George had just been scowling ferociously one second earlier (the third picture from the top was taken moments before this one), and then magically did this when the threatening voice came out:


I totally felt for him. I know what it is like to just be in a grumpy mood and it is lame to have to suck up your pride and slap on a happy face. I sort of feel bad that the whole thing unfolded that way because it really was my fault initially. I shouldn't have made an issue over the shirt and I should have fed him some dinner before we left. He was hungry and his autonomy and power had been totally taken away (I hadn't tried to do that, but looking back I can totally see how he felt), and I was really sorry about that. I took a minute and had a meaningful conversation with him and apologized for what had happened. I didn't excuse his naughty behavior and he said he was sorry, too. We hugged and he smiled a real, unforced, un-coerced smile. As you can see, he had already put his Superman shirt on (though that hadn't really done anything to help his mood up to that point, and yep, count it up, that is 5 different shades of blue he is rocking).

By this time the light was almost totally gone. I took a few more photos of my now happy children and we played in the leaves (until Pearl fell down and skinned her hands, but that's neither here nor there). I didn't get any Fall Photos that I really liked, but here are some of the better ones. (By the way, who is  Pearl's mother and why didn't she do her hair before these pictures? Not sure.)

This is probably my favorite one of the bunch.




I think some of these could have turned out okay had George been cooperative from the beginning and the light not faded so fast. It was just getting so dark.


Oh look, happy children playing together! Weird!





He's a sweet, smiling boy most of the time. Just don't mess with his Superman shirt.


I was actually able to get some more Fall Photos of my kids on a different day completely accidentally. Maybe it was the fact that they were unintentional that made them turn out so much better. I'll post those next.

snowy update

When I get behind on blogging I feel like the journaling and writing get neglected most. I get anxious to catch up and feverishly try to plug away at posts that are mostly pictures with a few sentences of caption. I'm not really a fan of that. I want details and stories recorded. I want feelings expressed in words that I can re-read at a later date. I want memories described in text. I love pictures as much as anyone (we all know that), but I want to write about the details that pictures miss. Someday I want my children to be able to read about the days of their childhood from the words of their mother. So here is a start at what I hope will become a much more consistent part of this space. (Along with some pictures, naturally. These are from the first snowfall of the year that came last Saturday. George woke us up with shrieks of, "It SNOWED! Can we go outside and build a snowman?!" We bundled up and quickly found that one child had a snowsuit that was getting too little, and the other had a snowsuit that was still far too big. Oops. The kids had so much fun, though, and it was especially memorable because it was Pearl's first experience with really playing in snow.)




We have fallen into a pretty good weekly rhythm that we can count on, and, though I am totally a free-spirited polychronic (also described here) party girl at heart, I am grateful for the structure that we have in place to build our days around. Since our outside running weather is gone, a few friends and I have been going to the gym together at 6:00 AM. I get home around 7:15 or so and get myself and the kids ready for school. Three mornings (8:30-12:30) a week (Tuesday-Thursday) all three of us go together to school where George is in his own early childhood Montessori class (with a teacher that I adore), and Pearl is with me in a class where I am the special educator. It is a pretty incredible blessing to our family the way this whole me still teaching thing has worked out, and I am so grateful that we get to all be at the same place together. On Mondays just George goes to school for the morning, and Pearl and I get to spend a few hours just the two of us. George loves school and I love that I have some built-in time that is just for my girl. On Fridays we are free to go whichever way the wind blows us. We can often be found at our neighborhood park, Target, my parents' house, a friend's house, the zoo, or the mall. Sometimes we stay home and do projects or play with cars, "guys," baby dolls, or markers (Pearl's current favorite thing). We have a relatively simple life (though it doesn't always feel that way), and I am so grateful to spend my days with the people I love most. One day I'm sure I'll come back here to read this and long for the simplicity and beauty of this time. That's why I wanted to quickly jot it down.





Speaking of school, both children are really thriving and learning so much. I didn't anticipate that with Pearl (as I would have NEVER put her in a preschool at her age under normal circumstances-- it just works out that she gets to be there because I am there), but holy cow, I am constantly amazed at the way those few hours a week manifest themselves throughout the rest of our days. She loves cleaning up, and will often put her toys and things back where they go without being asked (this is because she has learned to clean up and restore the works at school when she is finished with them). She stacks things constantly (thank you, pink tower),  and tries to roll up dish towels while doing the "pat pat pat" on both sides to keep it neat (the kids either place their works on tables or little work mats that they roll out and roll back up themselves while singing, "Roll up the mat, tap tap tap." It really is so darling.). She has learned the routine at school so well and is usually the first little student to be in her "ready body on line" when she hears the clean-up chimes. Most of the other children in the class are much older than her, but there is one other little boy that is just two weeks younger (he is the son of one of the other teachers). He is bigger than Pearl, but for some reason (probably because he is just beginning to talk and still throws little tantrums when his mama takes something away :)) Pearl insists on calling him "Baby." She calls the other students by their names, and she knows his name, but she is convinced that he is a baby that needs her mothering. If he cries she'll go pat and hug him and say, "Oh, Baby cry. Baby sad." A few weeks ago, she noticed that he had a runny nose, and without missing a beat, rushed over to the "Care of Self" area in the classroom, grabbed a tissue, wadded it up, and went over and wiped his nose while noncholantly commenting to herself, "Baby. Nose." and then threw it away in the trash. She is a confident, assertive, funny, sometimes demanding, little mother-er, and I super love that about her.




George is also a happy little student. He loves math and numbers and is starting to work on place value and basic addition. He knows almost all his letter names and sounds, though his teachers report that they have to really entice him to work in the language/reading area. He is happier in math or practical life. John and I have talked with him about how good it feels to choose and complete some more challenging works because he seems (like most people, probably) to prefer to work in his comfort zone. He'd also almost ALWAYS prefer to work with a friend. His teachers are constantly commenting about how social he is, which occasionally results in a little visit to the "Watching Chair" until he is ready to sit back on line without talking to his friends, but most often is such a dear quality in our boy. We just had parent/teacher conferences and one of the things that his teacher wrote about him was that he is well-liked by all of his classmates and an honest leader in the class community (the honest part is because if he does something he knows he shouldn't do he will readily admit guilt and tell the teacher the whole story which kind of cracks me up).




On Monday I got to accompany George and his class on a field trip to a local farm. When I walked into the classroom to get the students I'd be chaperoning, one of his teachers ran up to me giggling. She had a funny story to tell me about George, she said (this is a regular occurence). When his teachers told George that morning that he would get to be in the group with me as the leader he proudly and joyfully exclaimed, "Yeah!! 'Cause she's my BFF!!" They cracked up laughing. Oh little boy, we really are BFFs, and I am so glad.




I've had to engage in a couple of conversations over the past two weeks that I wasn't expecting to be having so soon with George. They both happened in the car when we've had quiet time to think and talk. I was just driving along minding my own business when George asked, "Mom, how are the babies in the girls' tummies?" I wasn't sure what his question was exactly so I asked for clarification. He said, "When they are mommies their tummies get big with the babies, but when they are girls, their tummies are still small. How are the babies in there?" I explained that babies are not just chilling in little girls' tummies and that when girls get older and are grown up then the babies can get in the tummies. The lightbulb moment came for him, plus an additional, lovely little question: "OH! So the babies aren't in the tummies when the girls are little! So how do the babies get into the grown-up girls' tummies?" I quickly tried to gather together the bits and pieces of my answer for him so that he was given correct information, but without giving him too much information. This isn't a conversation that I am scared to have candidly with him, but I did feel like Holy cow, he is four. He doesn't need details. Edit, Liz, edit. So I edited and ended up saying that the mommy and the daddy create a new little baby together with Heavenly Father. He was totally satisfied with that answer and didn't ask any further questions about what exactly that creative process entails :). In fact, I even said (mostly for fun so John could be in on this too), "George, why don't you ask Daddy that question when we get home," to which he replied, "No Mom, that's silly, we already know the answer. They get created!" So there was that. And then there was the time last week when he asked me (again in the car), "Mom, when do girls get the breasts?" (pronounced "breast-ez," naturally). So we had a conversation about puberty and how boys get hair on their faces and girls get breasts when they are 12 or 13 or 14. He was like, "Yeah, I'll get hair on my face. Probably when I am five." No sir, not you will not. We will delay those milestones as long as possibly, pretty please.



Somehow (I think from Veggietales, actually) George learned about castor oil and has referred to it a couple of times when describing how something disgusting tasted. It's a little funny to hear your four-year-old be like, "Ewww! That is so yucky! It tastes like castor oil!" And then this past week I got some food poisoning and threw up and when George heard about it he said, "Oh, probably because you ate some castor oil, huh Mom."

(She wouldn't keep her mittens on but then got so sad when her hands got frozen)

George got sick about a month ago and was up all night throwing up. In the morning when he woke up I sat down by him at his make-shift bed on our bedroom floor and asked, "How are you feeling, buddy?" He looked up at me and gave a sweet smile and said, "Like I love you." Not exactly the answer I was expecting, but wow does that little tender boy know how to melt his mama's heart. I love him so much.

(George had just thrown a snowball at Pearl here)

Pearl is seriously a little fireball of joy and delight. Yesterday John and I were talking about how completely adorable she is (something that we discuss pretty much daily) and John asked, "Does she just have an enormous personality?" because there really isn't any other way to describe her. Enormous, happy, loving, spicy, independent. Her personality cannot be contained in adjectives.




One of the most precious things about Pearl to me is how much she still loves to nurse, and I am not so sure she'll be ready to give it up any time soon. My plan right now is to wean right around 2 (which is what George did), but I am wondering if she'll be as ready then as George was. I am giving myself permission to extend that if I feel like it isn't going to be a painless transition for her. I am a big believer in child-led weaning, and while I think I can facilitate that a little bit to meet my needs, I am not going to take something away from her that she isn't ready to be finished with. I adore our nursing time. I feel so blessed that I have been able to spend so many hours giving my children this part of me. I will never regret nursing for longer, but I know I'd regret it if I stopped too soon.




Pearl's favorite things (besides her Mama, Daddy, and Brother (who she still refers to as "Bruh Bruh")) are babies and animals. She is obsessed with babies. Mostly real ones (she cannot keep her hands off of the babies at church and her new baby cousin), but dolls will also do. She is especially in heaven if she can push them around in some kind of stroller or shopping cart. She thinks she's a grown-up. She also loves animals, which is fun because George really doesn't care for them much. He doesn't like the way dogs smell and just isn't really a pet lover (aside from our chickens-- he really loves them). But Pearl is another story. She adores my parents' dog, and cannot get enough of looking at animals in books. She tried to steal a horse calendar from a mall kiosk and cried wildly when I made her put it back, "Fosie! Fosie! Want fosie book!" (Fosie is horsey, in case you don't speak Baby.)

(These two pictures are my favorite ones from the day)

George is so patient with Pearl. She steals his toys and messes up the "guys" that he spends hours arranging, and he will just calmly redirect her in his little sing-songy voice, "No no, Pearlie. These are Bruh Bruh's. You go in your room and play with your toys." He does occasionally get frustrated with her persistence (she really loves taking his toys from him and running away while squealing with delight), but he is almost always just so gentle and patient even then. And even though Pearl does love to torment him with things like that, she also just really adores him and wants to be around him all the time. George is a back-scratch lover and can often be found begging anyone nearby to scratch his back. Pearl will always do it for him and it is so heartwarming to walk into the bedroom where they are playing and see George splayed out on his stomach, his shirt pulled up, Pearl leaning over him tickling his back with her small fingers.




This post has been all over the place and got really long. I wanted to document these stories and feelings though, and mostly just want it recorded that I am in love with my little family. I had to get a prescription filled at the pharmacy the other day and when I was told it would take 30 minutes, I decided to take a walk up the street with my two little tagalongs. We ended up at Smashburger at George's request and as we sat there together eating fries and sipping root beer I marveled at how blessed I felt. Even running errands with those two little people turns into a party. There are big moments of overwhelming joy as a parent, and then there are little ones. Little ones that happen over and over again throughout the hours and days that you spend with them, even when (maybe especially when) you were just supposed to be running a pesky errand to the pharmacy.

It's a happy life, this one.

spicy sister

This week we returned home from a 4 day collecting trip for John's thesis research to Southwestern Colorado and New Mexico, and trust me, there are plenty of photos and stories coming. And oh my, so many other things to catch up on! I'm working on it, promise. In the meantime, a few photos of our saucy little gal.

She is such delight and joy that there are not adequate adjectives. I find myself literally squealing to John on occasion about the things she does and all of the spice wrapped up in her small body. She makes crazy, expressive faces constantly (really, like at least 4 a minute, mostly because she knows that she will make us giggle), and she holds her own just fine with her big brother. She talks and uses words to let us know what she wants (a couple of weeks ago in the middle of the night she was screaming and I had no clue why-- after holding her, nursing her, rocking her etc. I decided to let her cry for a bit to see what she would do. 10 or so minutes passed and she was still screaming so I went back in to calm her down. As soon as she got into my arms she started sobbing, "Wa wa! Wa wa!" I felt so bad! I got her a drink of water, layed her back down, and tried not to laugh/cry when she immediately rolled over and fell asleep. Poor little thirsty child.), but she also does a great job of screaming and pointing to get her message across if she doesn't know the word. Mostly she yells "Want! Want!" all day long at whatever it is that her brother is holding. She is demanding, to be sure, but I like my girls with a little zing so it is working for us :). I honestly kind of can't get enough of her.

She seriously loves getting into her brother's things, and usually George doesn't mind. Here she is making her way up to his art table to have a look at what kind of trouble she can make.


Of course just sitting at the table was not adequate. She needed to get up on top of it so that she could reach George's little magnetic calendar that is strictly forbidden to her. (Sidenote: I've had several friends that have been shocked when they find out that I really do just leave paints and paintbrushes down at George's table for him to use whenever he wishes, even without supervision. It has worked just fine for us-- George is careful and has only ever painted on paper, and is good about cleaning up when he is done. The only painting mess we have ever had to deal with came at the hands of one certain baby girl who somehow managed to get a lid off and painted the wall and floor with her hands. Perhaps our free-for-all painting access will have to change with this lil' one. I'm mostly hoping we can eventually teach her the rules and let the paints stay :). We will see.)


And to finish off tonight, another diaper-only shot, this time in the dryer.


I love spending my days with this busy little baby and her mild mannered (but recently much more feisty himself) big brother. No where else I'd rather be, nothing else could bring me this joy.

last night 5 years ago

I broke out an old journal of mine last night a re-read the story of how John proposed. I realized that it had been exactly 5 years ago to the day (I knew it was close, but didn't remember the exact date). Sure enough, August 31st. A date that changed my life and made it infinitely happier and better than I could've ever dreamed. I scanned in the journal entry and will post it for your reading pleasure. This isn't nearly as painful to read as the last journal entry I posted, but it's still a journal entry from my barely 21 year old self, and I still cringed reading a few of the details. But it's a good memory, so here you go.

Best parts:

*I got engaged in a cemetery. Awesome, right?

*The fact that 3 "ghosts of dating past" called me as I was driving home to visit my soon- to-be fiance. I blurred their names out here. It was the least I could do. *shameful cringe*

*John just pulling a huge candle out of his pocket and lighting it. Hysterical to me for some reason.

*John had the ring box in his sock. Also hysterical to me.

*I really was completely oblivious. Looking back, I should have known something was up, but John did a good job of totally playing it cool. I was so fooled.

Sadly I did not religiously tote around my camera then as I do now, so there are not any photos of this awesome scene. You'll have to use your imagination :).

"True love is the best thing in the world, except for cough drops. Everybody knows that."

Last night as when I climbed into bed it was long after my two boys had gone to sleep. I went in and checked on Baby G and then made my way under the covers next to my husband. As I waited for sleep to come my thoughts drifted back to the events that found me in this place, this place as wife to the man I dreamed of and mom to the baby I've wanted forever.

I first met the man that would become my husband when we were 15. We were at an Alta football game and I was wearing a blue puffy vest with khaki pants. He was tall, skinny, wore glasses, and made me laugh from go. I knew I liked him from the minute I talked to him.

Through high school we hung out with the same crowd and got to know one another. My first kiss belongs to one of his best friends. His first hand-hold belongs to one of mine. Even though I was dating someone else my mom recalls me coming home one night after being with all my friends and telling her all about this "friend." She says she knew from that moment on how much I cared about him and respected him. I remember that conversation going something like this:

Me: Mom, he is SO amazing. He goes home early on the weekends sometimes just so his mom won't be lonely! What boy does that?

Mom: He sounds really great. Do you like him?

Me: Yeah right mom. He likes fishing, not girls. I would never have a chance. The only reason he even hangs out with girls is because his guy friends are hanging out with us.

That pretty much sums up my sophomore and junior year with him. I had a secretcrush on him, dated all his friends, and hoped one day he would take me fishing.

At the end of our junior year we both got called to be on seminary council at our highschool. That was the catalyst for our friendship deepening. As we spent more time together doing stuff for council my secretcrush turned into secretlove. Certainly I wasn't in love, but I did develop a depth of love and respect for him that I hadn't ever felt before. The whole while I was sure he was oblivious to my feelings, and most definitely not reciprocating of them.

One day our senior year all the universities from around the state came to talk to the seniors about eligibility, admissions etc. We went around to the presentations together and talked about how it seemed too stressful to start planning to go to one of those universities so we started this inside joke about the Western Family College of Failures and Fishermen (WFCFF). I made applications for it, we filled them out, I applied to be the school mascot (a brown trout).

Long story short, one night I ended up at his house to deliver part of the WFCFF application (which for some reason included mini-bananas). We ended up getting into my car and talking. And talking, and talking, and talking. We finally ended up sort of confessing having feelings for one another, but mostly just in terms of respecting each other a whole lot. Apparently we talked for a long time about it because the next thing we knew his mom opened the front door all groggy and in her bathrobe and asked J if he had any idea what time it was and if he was with a girl named "L. T." Oops. It was 3:30 in the morning and my dad had been out searching for me (thinking I had been in a car accident because it was completely unlike me to be late and not let them know) and finally started calling around to my friends' houses.

Anyway, after J called and apologized to my mom, and after I got over feeling like I had ruined any chance I had with him by keeping him out all night long, our senior year continued and our feelings did, too. Once confessed, we swore secrecy because since we were both on seminary council we were not technically allowed to date each other. What a blessing that was! It made all the phone calls, emails, and little secret get-togethers so exciting and pure. We were just becoming best friends. We pretended like our friends hadn't noticed our secret. "Relationship? What relationship? Of course I don't like him like that!" Most (if not all) knew better.

We graduated and it took him exactly 3 days to kiss me the first time (and that was probably only because he was on a fishing trip). Oh! I still get butterflies thinking about that.

We dated all summer long and it really was like a dream to me. I couldn't believe that he would call me to hang out every day. We fell in love that summer, and then we had to move away to college.

He went north to Logan and I went south to Provo. I thought that would be the end of my fairytale. I thought that we would surely grow apart living so far from each other. What I didn't know is that distance doesn't stop two people in love, especially if they are 18 and irresponsible. We talked on the phone daily. We saw each other every weekend. We said we were dating other people too, but I'm pretty sure we can count the number of dates we went on with others on one hand. I think it is safe to say that the distance actually made us closer, made us realize really how much we wanted to spend every moment together.

He was turning 19 in June and going to be leaving to serve a mission for 2 years. I knew that was coming so I was really looking forward to the 2 month gap in between us both coming home from college and him leaving. We were going to have the best 2 months together.

Instead I moved to Hawaii to go to school for those 2 months. I didn't want to. I hated leaving him, knowing that when I got back we would have only days left together. But I knew I had to go. I had received an undeniable answer that Hawaii was the place for me, that I needed to start the separation between us before he actually left so that he could be as prepared for his mission as the Lord needed him to be. I think I cried the entire flight across the ocean.

Hawaii's beaches soothed my soul and I learned to love it there. That doesn't mean that there weren't tearful phone conversations (my roommates can vouch for that one), but it didn't take me too long to realize that I had absolutely made the correct decision. Still, it hurt because I could feel J slowly pulling away from me. I could sense a shift in our relationship. I was not going to go home to the same boyfriend I left-- he was being prepared to be an instrument in the Lord's hands and I knew things would be different.

I read "The Princess Bride" while I lived in Hawaii and wrote down two passages from it in my journal at the time. They were about undying love and I remember thinking that I hoped to be able to say them to J one day.

He and his parents flew out to Hawaii the last week I was there and we were able to go on the vacation of a lifetime together. I remember walking around some boat docks with his hand in mine and someone saying, "You two must be newlyweds! You still have that dreamy look about you." I remember wishing so bad that that was true, knowing that really, it could be the beginning of the end.

When he left on his mission he did so completely unattached. We were, in no uncertain terms, free to live the lives we needed to without each other in them. He wanted me to date with my whole heart, even give it to someone else if it was right. I wanted him to focus his mind 100% on the work he was doing, even if it meant tucking away thoughts of me for two years. Those were hard decisions, and I have to give most of the credit for the maturity of our relationship to him. He has always been wise beyond his years.

The two years went by rather quickly. I spent 8 of those 24 months in Romania. Letter writing was more frequent in the beginning, but by the end it had tapered off considerably. His parents forwarded his emails, and I devoured them, hungry for a portion of his spirit. Not a night went by that I didn't pray for him and pray that he would somehow know of my love. But he was there, and I was here. I dated a lot. I dated two people quite seriously. I dated one person VERY seriously. There was a marriage proposal on the table for the taking. In the back of my mind though, I knew I had to at least see, at least give it a chance with J. I couldn't make any decisions until he was home from Brazil and I had at least given it a shot.

Wow, he was weird when he got home. It really was incredibly awkward. Don't ask me what I was thinking when I decided to take his mom up on her invitation to go to Yellowstone with him and his whole family 3 days after he had gotten home. Seriously, why did I do that to him? Why did I do that to myself? There was one highlight on the trip (though if you have heard the story of it I am certain you wouldn't actually call it a highlight) that gave me a glimmer of hope that he still loved me but would just take a little more time to get there.

As soon as he did get there though, things happened quickly. He had come home on July 6th, we were engaged the last Wednesday in August, and got married 3 years ago today, November 18th.

Last night I was remembering how 3 years prior at that very moment I was laying in bed next to my cousin talking to her about how that was my last night to go to bed a single woman-- the next day I was going to be the bride of the man I had hoped to have for 6 years.

At our wedding brunch I came prepared with my journal from 2 1/2 years prior. I opened it to the page where I had scribbled down the quotes from "The Princess Bride" and I stood and read them to my new husband. This is what I said:

“I love you so much more now than twenty minutes ago that there cannot be comparison. I love you so much more now than when you opened your hovel door, there cannot be comparison. There is no room in my body for anything but you. My arms love you, my ears adore you, my knees shake with blind affection. My mind begs you to ask it something so it can obey. Do you want me to follow you for the rest of your days? I will do that. Do you want me to crawl? I will crawl. I will be quiet for you or sing for you, or if you are hungry, let me bring you food, of if you have thirst and nothing will quench it but Arabian wine, I will go to Araby, even though it is across the world, and bring a bottle back for your lunch. Anything there is that I can do for you, I will do for you; anything there is that I cannot do, I will learn to do.” (Buttercup to Westly)

“I have stayed these years in my hovel because of you. I have taught myself languages because of you. I have made my body strong because I thought you might be pleased by a strong body. I have lived my life with only the prayer that some sudden dawn you might glance in my direction. I have not known a moment in years when the sight of you did not send my heart careening against my rib cage. I have not known a night when your visage did not accompany me to sleep. There has not been a morning when you did not flutter behind my waking eyelids.” (Westly to Buttercup)

I remember feeling the depth of those words that day-- truly I had lived my life with the prayer that one day this man would look at me, and had spent years where he was my last thought before bed and my first thought in the morning. And there I stood, looking at this man, knowing that I had just been bound to him, and him to me, for all eternity. I would never wonder about our love again.

I am so grateful to say that 3 years later those words are even truer. Today I love him more than I did on our wedding day that there cannot be comparison. He has given me all I ever wanted in this life, and my happiness is so wound up in him and in the family life we have created together. I pray for years and years more of him.

The title of this post is also from "The Princess Bride" in case you didn't know.