My First-Worst Date

~Memory Monday~

I'm pretty sure all of my dating days I was considered the AWKWARD datee. Just a hug would make my heart shudder and my stomach fall to the floor. Physical contact was off-limits people, blame my parents, that's just how we were raised. Did a hug mean he liked me more than I liked him? Was it just a simple friendly gesture?? Was I going to have to make one of those head dodges if a kiss was tried next??? I have done a kiss dodge and it's better to avoid those at all costs. I was more of a shake hands at the end of a date, which I did on one of my first dates at college. (Poor nice boy who thought it would be fun to take me out.) Needless to say I never dated much. Thank goodness Marcus came along and somehow thought my "Little House on The Prairie" attributes were attractive.

Back to my first date. I had just turned 16, still had braces on, and my first kiss was still 2 years away. I thought boys were cute, but sports and hunting were still first on my list. Of course getting asked to Prom was important and especially exciting as a Sophomore, but that's where the excitement ended. I had no idea how to do my hair, make-up had never touched my face, and a prom dress and high heels are just as awkward as wearing nothing but your underwear.

My date was a respectable gentleman: nice, cute, and had good lineage. Let's just say picking me up for the date was probably the highlight of his entire evening. There was nothing wrong with him, the group we went with, or the dance itself, other than I just wanted to go home and go to bed. I was completely out of my element and I didn't like it. I knew the plans were to go to someone's house after the dance and watch a movie. Sitting close to a boy on a couch during a 2 hour movie sounded like getting a cavity filled, so I lied. I said that my parents told me I had to be home by midnight. I saw the disappointment in his face, not because he wanted my company, because it is embarrassing to show up to the after-party without your date. But, his feelings weren't a concern of mine at the time.

He pulled into my driveway and delivered the line I deserved and the line that would give Charlotte and I non-stop laughs for the next 12 years.

"Date's over, get your own door."

And I did. Gladly.

Grip of Iron

I had high hopes for our day of flying home. Before the plane had even got off the ground, these hopes were trampled in the mud. We sat down and Zannah grabbed two fistfuls of my hair. A grip of iron doesn't do it justice. Her grip is phenomenal, it should be in the Guinness Book of World Records.

Passenger after passenger boarded and stared as they walked pass the poor mom who couldn't control her child and was going bald in the process. I tried prying her hands from my hair to no avail. Then I bribed her with anything in my power: candy, milk, peanut-butter sandwich, toys, crayons, books, cell phone, new car when she turns 16 and still nothing. Mind you, she isn't screaming or crying, she just has a look of complete and utter determination.

Finally the last passenger had no choice but to try and scoot past us to sit in the last available seat. I never saw the expression on her face because my head was being jerked downward. After 10 minutes nothing had changed except very little of my hair was still in the ponytail it started in.

I couldn't decide whether to cry out of pain, cry from humiliation, or cry due to anger at the increasing number of spectators. People were beginning to nudge each other and turn around for a better look. And since people were already staring I seriously considered giving into my urge to pull Zannah's hair back. Now that would be good watching! At last Zannah decided to have mercy, she turned around, sat in my lap and head bunted me in the face for good measure.

If somehow Marcus and I can guide this intensity and strength and stubborness Missy Z has into something positive, all will be well in the world.



P.S. After a one-on-one review and intense therapy regarding this last week in Idaho, Zannah has some apologies she wants to give.

---Charlotte, sorry I flushed your toothbrush down the toilet.

---Claire, I'm really sorry I shattered your teapot

---Damon, I kinda feel bad about swirling your toothbrush in the toilet, I'm more sorry I got caught.

---Grandma, Sorry about the mirror I shattered and the milk, juice, and water I continously spilled and for coloring on your door with crayon.

---Jen, Remember that day in the quilt store? I feel bad I kept ripping emroidery floss off the rack and making you, 8 months pregnant, get down on your knees and pick them up.

---Black Cat, I'm sorry I strangled you and then tried to ride you.

Love, Zannah

Girl's Weekend-Denver 2010

Or Estrogren Fest as some people call it. We laughed a lot. Went to the Temple. Got massages.Took pictures.

Ate a lot and didn't think twice about babies falling off tables.

I hope this is a newly founded tradition. What a fabulous time.

I would post about Marcus's brocation he took the week before with his buddies, but that is the difference with boys and girls---they don't take pictures.

Generations (Christmas Moment)

Back When....moon boots rocked. Present......It's amazing that gomer 1 and 2 still can't take a decent picture.

And the Future. I can't wait to see them reinact this pic in 20 years.

Alright, Alright I Believe..

It really does snow in A-town. For some odd reason, I have been out of town for every major storm that has come through prior to now. I used to think everyone was making it up, but now I'm a believer.

Zannah and I went out with Marcus to help people get "unstuck". That's what you do for fun when the whole town is shut down and you own a truck with four-wheel drive. I think Z is a dare-devil. She giggles, "Whoooooaaaah!" when Marcus spins cookies, while I get queasy.

Bathing Babes--(Christmas moments)

Lex's baby bathing with my baby. (Lex's baby is on the right, if you were confused.)

The Irony

When I'm on call for work, I'm a no nonsense kinda gal. I'm cordial and professional to the patients, but I don't chit chat. I want to get in and out quickly and back home to bed. To be honest, I have to be this way or I would blow a gasket. Most middle of the night "ultrasound worthy" emergencies are for pelvic bleeding or pain. Which means pregnancy: my nemesis. And most of these pregnant girls are under 18. And many of them could care less about that little life on the screen, or at least act that way. And some of these girls are there because of an abortion gone wrong. So, I detatch myself from the situation. I bite my lip to control my tears, clench my fist around the probe to control my anger, and silently give them the lecture of a lifetime.

This last week was different. She was witty and sweet and sincerely panicking over her positive pregnancy test. This was not supposed to happen. She had undergone surgical measures to prevent this. She wanted to know how she was going to handle and afford 5 kids under the age of 7.

Within seconds, it was obvious she was pregnant. And I started giggling, which turned into laughter. I quickly explained my odd behavior. The irony of the extremes that she and I have both gone through to obtain what the other desperately wants. So, here we were, late at night, she definitely pregnant and I definitely not.

We both laughed, undoubtedly to hide our tears. The laughter released months of bitterness I had harbored. She said she would pray for me and I promised to pray for her. I did exactly that today, because despite what I want to believe, my trials are no harder than hers.