Like Royalty

My childhood was charmed.  The first eleven years of it were especially wonderful when we lived in Village Green.  Village green is the name of the trailer park we lived in.  It was all so much like a dream.  Or a reality TV show.  Maybe some of each.  But I loved it.  

I recently decided to look up our trailer park on Google Earth.  Okay, that feels weird.  We never called it the trailer park, we called it the trailer court, so let's just get that out in the open so I can stop trying to remember to keep from typing what is actually coming out of my brain after long years of usage (i.e. trailer court) and translating it into the-rest-of-the-world-ese.

So Village Green was the trailer court (sounds so much more regal and so much less "white trash"*) in which I grew up.  And I decided to find it on Google Earth.  

I entered the address: 222 N. 1200 W., Orem, UT, and here is where it took me:

 I stared and stared at the area directly above where the address is written and couldn't for the LIFE of me make sense of trying to wander through those streets.  Wait.  Where is the park?  Where are half the streets?  And what, pray tell, is that huge parking lot to the left of it?  I don't remember any business in the area large enough to require such a huge parking lot.

I seriously looked up and down the street and zoomed way out and back in again.  I made sure I was looking in the right area compared to Trafalga Family Fun Center, which was just down the street.  Yes. this was the place.  What in the world happened?  Where was the place I had grown up?

Then, after turning the map and thinking and thinking for far more minutes than I care to admit,  I took a closer look at the parking lot.

Yeah.  Duh.  Not duh ME, of course!  Duh, Google Earth, who wrote my address out under the adjacent neighborhood.  How was I to know that the parking lot, which happened to be located exactly where I remembered the trailer court being, actually WAS the trailer court when the address was written so far off?  Sheesh.  

Once I got over that (I feel like an idiot again just thinking about it), I starting wandering in my mind through that trailer court.  And it was all there.  All the places I rode my bike and the hill on which I'd wiped out on my roller skates countless times.  My best freind's house and the park.  Oh, but the pool.  Looks like the swimming pool is gone.  Other than that, it looked like home.  And then I found home.  

In the lower left hand corner, with a brown roof, was the double-wide I grew up in.  The one that started out as a single-wide and, as our family grew, was transformed into a double-wide by my dad, who can do anything. 

Oh the memories!  Thousands of them flying at me in the most random of orders.  And so I realized that I need to put them down.  And so I'm going to.

This is the first of a series I will be doing about life in the trailer court.  I can't wait to get it all out.
*For the record, I really hate the term "white trash", especially when used to describe a person for the same reason I despise the term "loser".

About Kuba

I've known Kuba, Greg's best friend since elementary school, for just about as long as I've known Greg, although I didn't actually meet him until we'd been married for almost two years (meet Kuba, not Greg.  I both heard about AND met Greg before we got married.).

Back in the early days when I was just getting to know Greg, he would tell stories about his exciting life back in Poland.  Because he'd only been a member of the church for a year before going to the states (for his mission and then school), most of his memories were from before he joined the church.

Buddhism, poetry, , tai chi, hitchhiking, and wandering the Polish countryside with nothing but a little food and some cigarettes.  It was such an exotic life, and so different from my own youth.  I ate up every detail (except the cigarettes.  I spat those out), and asked lots of questions.  I couldn't get enough.  My very favorite stories were those of his adventures with Kuba. In some of our more peaceful and happy moments before and while dating, I would request "Kuba stories".  


Stories of teasing the girls and various pranks in school, eating sandwiches together after school, adventures with their Syrian friend, and many, many adventures (and misadventures) in foreign countries (most notably Berlin) while hitchhiking.  Kuba was like a brother to Greg growing up, so I kind of thought of him that way, too.  


Greg was with Kuba when he met the missionaries in Vienna.  Later Kuba invited Greg to his baptism, which was the real catalyst for Greg investigating the church.  Which lead to him joining it.  Which eventually lead to him marrying me.  I sort of owe Kuba a lot.


When I was heavily pregnant with Ewelina, this mystical, magical personage left Poland and came to Utah to attend BYU.  We picked him up at the airport.  He even looked like Greg's brother..  They were very happy to see each other.  They laughed a lot.  I enjoyed it.


It was a little hard for me to believe that this kind of quiet, thoughtful, though usually smiling, person was the prankster I had heard so much about, but the more time we spent with him and the better I got to know his sense of humor I realized that he was probably capable of all I had heard.  :)  


It was wonderful for Greg to have his best friend back for the next year or so before we moved back to Poland.  I was happy to get to know him on a more personal level, to add to my "Kuba story"-based understanding of him.


After he finished school at BYU he moved back to Poland and we have seen him now and again while visiting Greg's parents in Łódż.  He and Greg have had a few more adventures wandering and hiking (this time with fewer cigarettes and less alcohol--although good Kuba never smoked)   


And now, we are having the worst adventure of all.  Kuba went back to Utah for a visit last month and, after being there for a couple of weeks visiting with friends, he just disappeared.  No trace.  His things were left at the home he was staying in, but no other trace of him has been found since last month.  We are searching.  Greg is still hoping that this is just his biggest prank yet.  We want him found.  


It seems to me that the more people hear about this, the greater the chance that he WILL be found.  


If anyone would "like" or share the following links it would help his story to be spread.


http://www.heraldextra.com/news/local/central/provo/article_fea13635-4249-5125-8486-d2e3c78973ef.html#.T-N9ExB2Dpc.facebook

http://utahcountysouth.fox13now.com/news/news/74280-missing-person-jakub-gorowski#.T-Nar1sGYUo.facebook

I don't have a picture of Kuba, though there is one in the above links, but here is a picture that he took years ago of us with his parents one time when we visited.



His dad passed away last year, but his mother surely wants him found, too.  I'm constantly praying it will happen soon.

UPDATE!  A friend has created a website to organize efforts to find him.  Find it HERE.  A search party is being organized to meet on Saturday, June 23rd at the north end of Rock Canyon, behind the temple at 8:45.  All volunteers welcome!!

A Wrinkle From Time

My sister Anne and I were often mistaken for twins when we were kids.  Because of this, and the fact that everyone in her apartment complex at BYU knew I was her sister the second they laid eyes on me when I visited from Ricks, we started a tradition of staring into the mirror, cheek to cheek and comparing our faces. Seriously, every time we have been shocked at how alarmingly different we look.  Every feature is so different, we are baffled at how anyone could think we look similar.

We are only 13 months apart.  Anne used to love to laugh through the entire month in which she was actually TWO years older than me.  I was such a baby that month!  Ha!

But now the laugh's on her!  That extra year and a month has rewarded her with the beloved prize time allows us all: wrinkles.  Wrinkles before her baby sister started showing them.  Who's laughing now, huh Anne!?!  Hahahahahahahaha!

Just kidding.

I hope I didn't have to say that.  I would never laugh at the misfortunes of a sibling.  Well, that's not true.  At all.   But whatever.  The point is, in this case I did not and will not laugh at my sister.  The only reason I even noticed her wrinkles at all was because of the fact that she brought it up about three times a day.  We had a number of conversations like these:

Anne:  Look at these wrinkles on my forehead!!!  And the one on the bridge of my nose!!  Can you believe those!?!
Me:  Yes.  Yes I can.
Anne:  But you don't have any wrinkles!
Me:  Yes I do (smiling and pointing under my eyes).  See?
Anne:  Those don't count.
Me:  Well how does it happen that you're the one who gets to determine which wrinkles count and which don't?
*****
Anne:  You use different moisturizers on your face for day and night?
Me:   Uuuuum, yes.
Anne:  (Rolls eyes.)
*****
Anne:  (suspiciously) Why are you rubbing your eyes like that?
Me:  That's how I rub my eyes, Anne.
Anne:  See!!  You're totally trying to avoid wrinkles!!
*****
Anne:  I'm thinking of getting Botox.

Our sister Su is 4 years older than me (that's 3 years older than Anne, if you do the math.).  I'm not sure about her wrinkles.  Does she have any?  I think she does.  I don't really remember.  I try not to memorize people's wrinkles.  And we didn't have many wrinkle-centered conversations in the days I spent with her.

I think wrinkles are fine.  They're neat.  And mostly they're inevitable.  So who cares?  It's just your face.  And they're only skin deep.  Accept them and move along.

I've been realizing that I think I will have wrinkles above my upper lip. Does this delight me?  Not really but we age how we age.  I'm not going to try to smile less frequently to minimize those wrinkles.  (Or, actually, now that I've thought of it, I might.  I'll just claim I stopped being happy and nobody will be the wiser.  It will be my own little wrinkle-avoiding secret. Except never mind because Greg and the kids are way too funny for me to pretend to be sad through their jokes.  Forget that idea, self.)

So to Anne I say:  A lot can happen in 13 months.  By the time I'm the age Anne is now I may be far more wrinkled, even by her own standard, than she is now.  The next time I visit California and we look at our faces side by side in the mirror we may decide to go in for Botox together*.
*Not really.

Letting Us Know

During my second semester at Ricks there was a new guy in my FHE group. He was a surfer from California and we had the instant Californian-in-Rexburg connection. He went out with a few girls, but he and I became good friends and started dating. We got along really well and had a ton of fun together.



He was majoring in Marine Biology. No, not at Ricks College. He'd left his other school to come to Ricks for one semester. Just one. You know, the Semester In Idaho all aspiring marine biologists take time out for.



He said he just knew he had to come. He knew that it was important for him. I didn't know exactly what it all meant. I'm sure at some point I hoped it had something (or everything) to do with me. I was, after all, an 18 year old girl in her first romantic relationship.



He had left a girlfriend at home, presumably with the understanding that their relationship was on hold for a few months. This, of course, was a little awkward for me, but it was his deal.



We only dated for a couple of months but started to get kind of serious. Just at the deciding point things suddenly started tapering off. By the time the school year ended, we said our goodbyes without ever having talked about what kind of goodbye it was to be.



Maybe a month later, during summer vacation in California, my very supportive friends drove with me down to his neck of the woods to attend a huge singles dance. I met him there. We hugged and had a dance. It was the closure I needed. I also met the girl he'd been dating and we exchanged sincere smiles anytime we caught each other's eye.



He and I never kept in touch after that. Just the other night, though, I found him on facebook*. I looked through his public photos and got a vague idea of what his life is like now. He's just as I remember him. In his family pictures I see him, his two sons and the girl I'd met at the dance.



This made me so happy. Like, totally-brightened-my-day happy. Not having found him, but having found out that he married her.



I thought back on that semester. It was an adventurous one. We had a lot of experiences that I can't forget, like the time he left to go home in the middle of Sacrament meeting because he wasn't feeling well, only to pass out in the hallway and end up in the ER for the 4th time in his few months there. And like the discussion we had late one night on a trip with a bunch of friends to a cabin in the mountains. I remember that when I wanted , and probably meant, to say something along the lines of "I'm madly in love with you!" I said something completely different.



The reason I'm writing this all out is because looking back, all the events of that semester make so much sense to me. Besides all the things I learned and the ways I grew, I was kind of witnessing, or even being part of one of the most important decisions of his life. That cold, winter semester really was important for that California kid, and seeing the picture of his family just confirmed for me that our Father does and will help us know what is right for us, so we don't have to wonder in the future, if we will just remember.



I love these confirmations. I've had loads of them come to me through the scriptures, through something someone says or the words to the song that's on the radio just when I start the car**. Most recently a confirmation came in the form of a rainbow. Literally. (which, of course makes a very important experience sound a little silly, but whatev.)



Taking a trip down memory lane was nice, but the nicest was being reminded of how much our Father loves his children and how willing he is to guide us in our lives. I'm so glad he guided me to where I am today and for all the little confirmations he's given me on my way down the road to this place. Not just Poland, but where I am in my life, the things I've achieved, the people who surround me and the experiences I am having. When things are hard, it only takes looking back and remembering, and His peace fills in the gaps of imperfection in circumstance or character that might otherwise allow doubts or fear to creep in. I'm so thankful for the happiness that fills my life because of it.

* I sent him a quick hello and hope that he doesn't think it was creepy and stalkerish. It wasn't. Especially since I've been on facebook for 4 years and only just now looked him up. I'm okay, right?

* Greg doesn't subscribe to the songs in the car thing, but I think it's only because he doesn't pay attention to words and therefore has never had the experience hearing the very sentence he needs to hear from a song.

Give It Up For A Wonderful Husband

I used to be a wearer of heels. Not like every day or anything, since it wasn't really such a big thing back then, but I almost always wore high heels to church. I always felt so feminine, so sophisticated, so much taller than usual.

I used to dance, too. Oh, how I loved to dance. I would dance and dance and dance at any opportunity. As a teen I was a highly skilled dancer of the Bobby Brown and a hundred other moves (the names of which escape me now, thankfully) that made younger teens, and some humble older ones, crowd around me and my sister at tri-stake dances for lessons on how to look as awesome as we did on the dance floor.

Oh, how I loved to dance. I gave up most of those specific dances that immediately shout "EARLY NINETIES!!!" when I went off to college (because by then it was almost mid-nineties and those dances were so last season), but I still loved to dance. There were few things that made me feel more happy and free than moving to music.

But one of the things that did make me feel more happy and free was when I was hanging out with my friend Grzegorz. Man, I loved that. So much so, in fact, that I thought it would be worth it to give up some of the things I loved for the privilege of hanging out with him for the rest of ... ever.

I don't wear heels anymore. Grzegorz is not a fan. Although I may have felt feminine and sophisticated (and taller) in them, he thought it just looked awkward and impractical. Bye-bye, pumps. (I did get to wear them for my brother's wedding a couple of years ago and learned that it's just like riding a bike: if you haven't done it for ten years, you're bound to be rather wobbly at it.)

I don't dance in public places anymore. My enjoyment of dances and the frequenting of dance clubs came to an abrupt halt. Grzegorz doesn't dance. I don't go dancing without him. The end.

And I'm okay with that. Of course there are times I resent it a tiny bit, but only when I forget that it's worth it. So worth it. What was that definition of sacrifice? Giving up something good for something better? Yes. That's just exactly how I would define my "losses". Something good for something WAY better.

Hypocritical Housewife

I think we have a pretty old-fashioned marriage in many ways. I do 99 % of the cooking, maybe 85 % of the cleaning and 100% of laundry* in our relationship. I regularly treat my kids to cookies and milk (of course I hardly touch the things myself. Ha!) I consider the home my domain and recognize it as largely my responsibility to create the proper atmosphere here. I don't feel at all offended at the concept of a distinction between woman's work and man's work. As a matter of fact, I occasionally tell Greg to leave the woman's work to me (like when he's doing a bad job of something).
*I'm including the kid's help with hanging laundry and doing chores in my percentage

I love this. I've chosen it and I really love it. I spent all my early life wanting to be a wife and mother. Wanting to care for my husband and our children.

This is why I can never watch Father of the Bride without being a little baffled by Annie's reaction to the gift her fiance gives her. A blender!?! What kind of message is he trying to send!?! I've always thought, "I'm so the opposite of her. I would have loved to get a kitchen appliance and been thrilled to be able to use it to create delicious food for my dearly beloved husband."

But it only takes thinking back a little for me to see my hypocrisy.

It was only a few days before our wedding. We got out of the car at the grocery store and held hands. It was December and freezing so he put our hands in his coat pocket. I could feel that the lining was torn and commented on it.

"I know! In just a few days you can sew it up for me!" he said, with the most charming and affectionate smile.

Based on all my previous thoughts about homemaking and wifely responsibilities and the honor it would be to fulfill them, I should have been as delighted as he seemed to be a the thought. But I wasn't. Not at all.

For some unknown reason I had this sudden rush of horror that he expected me to be some domestic goddess, doing anything and everything he wanted me to; that suddenly our relationship was going to change dramatically from the moment we said the proverbial "I do". (or the less proverbial, "yes". Or was it "I will"? It's been awhile. Note to self: do sealings during temple trip this November)

I'm sure he was as surprised by my reaction as I was. (I didn't quite know what my deal was either). But we made it through that trial and still said our proverbial "I do"s.

After we were married I assured him that, though I lacked skill or practice, I was very happy to sew his pocket for him, despite the fact that I had seemed rather repulsed by the idea only a few days before.

Still, he chose to sew it himself. And from that time till now, Greg does probably 95% of all sewing for our family.

Which makes me wonder if Annie ever ended up using that blender after all, or if maybe he didn't do all the blending from there on out.
This post inspired by Melanie's post today.

A Prince and His, um, Horse

As a young teenager girl I dreamed of my Prince Charming. While I dreamed, this is the noble steed upon which my Knight in Shining Armor galloped:

He's in the passenger seat (it was his friend's car). I would like to say that I have no idea how he even got in there, because it sounds good, but the fact is, this is the exact same model (and color!) of car we drove for a few months while I was all the way pregnant with David, before we got a real car, so I know very well that it is possible to get in and out of one, even when you're Very Large.

It's pretty shocking how different the streets look today when compared with this picture ('91). Well, truthfully, you see the same number of pedestrians and kiosks, but now the streets are busy and full of new cars.

But what's really crazy is that they are also rather full of this same car. Still!

And I'm not sure when they started painting center lines on the streets, but they have them now. (and fine, they probably had them then, too, just not on some streets, such as the one pictured above. I'm glad, because it helps contribute to the sense that the street as wide as the Mississippi compared to this microscopic car)

Two jokes Greg tells about these cars:
1. What's the quietest car in the world? A Fiat Maluch (MAL-oo-h) because when you sit down in one your knees cover your ears.
2. This is the only Vatican endorsed car because, um, for reasons of chastity.

Even though this car looks like something we would have been required to build for our final project in my Beginning Auto class in high school, I love it. Partly because I have memories of my own in one (including trying not to go into labor one time while riding over an extremely bumpy road through the forest), but also because it's part of what got Greg where he is today. It was part of his journey. This picture was taken not too long after he was baptized, and the driver/friend was his branch president.

It's kind of funny that in a world where many people feel that it matters what gets you from A to B, this picture inspires so much more affection from me than if my knight had been driving a shiny BMW. Or riding a glossy-coated, black stallion.

Feeling Your Pain

In high school my skin was always . . . less clear than my friends'. It was the main thing I was unhappy with about myself, I think. (not that I was unhappy, but it would have been the first thing I changed if I could). But we were all teenagers, and none of us had perfect skin.

I remember occasionally standing in front of bathroom mirrors at a dance or at school with my friends and one of them complaining about their one zit. I would immediately point to myself and say, "Hello! You should be grateful!"

Starting around that time I began learning something. Just because my skin was worse than theirs doesn't mean that it wasn't a big deal for them to have a zit. They could be as unhappy about their one as I was about my twelve.

Because women compare themselves to each other so much, even those of us who feel we don't (I'm talking to you, self), complaining about or mentioning something like weight, pregnancy, physical appearance, almost anything, can turn into something of a competition, or at least can get people feeling defensive or offended. I hate that.

I'm sure there are some women that make jabs at a "friend" who is 30 pounds heavier than them by saying, "Oh! I'm just so fat! I really have to get rid of these disgusting 10 pounds!" But I doubt it happens a lot. Mostly, I think we worry more about ourselves and aren't thinking so much about those around us.

When a friend of mine who, to me seems quite thin talks about needing to lose weight, I only feel empathy. I know exactly how it feels to really want to lose weight. Just because I want to lose (insert number) pounds and she couldn't lose more than (insert much smaller number) without looking anorexic doesn't matter (I'm exaggerating, of course, but it sometimes feels like this). She has the same feelings I do. And that is okay.

I have felt a little sick after complaining about my child's behavior during church when I realized that the person I was talking to struggled much more with her children. I would not want her to think I was suggesting that even my mild mannered child was bad, so I must think her children were terrible.

I appreciate when this happens and instead of getting offended and holding it against me the person says something along the lines of "Oh, then you must think MY kids are little hellions!" or something like that. Of course I feel awful realizing what I sounded like, but then I can apologize and we can be fine. Hopefully. Everyone sticks their foot in their mouth sometimes, but we should give each other the benefit of the doubt. And even if someone does seem to be unkind on purpose, that's no reason to get offended or hold a grudge (see earlier post on taking offense).

But mostly I think we have to recognize that everyone has trials on their own level. Shoot, I can't remember who posted about someone telling them that they only had two children so she could not empathize with what she (a mother of four) was going through. Really? Back when you had two you never felt stressed or overwhelmed? It doesn't matter whose is worse, we have all felt it to some extent. Let's commiserate with one another!

Okay, this really doesn't sound how I mean it to. I'm not saying everyone should complain and we should all just try to make each other feel better. I'm also not saying that it's perfectly fine for people to complain about something the person they are complaining to struggles with more than them. But I am actually saying both of those things a little bit.

Mostly I just think we need to have all of our sensitivities be on the side of the things we say about ourselves in order to be careful not to hurt others, and not be so sensitive to what other people say about themselves and letting those things hurt us or think ill of the person saying them. We're all in this together. Really. We should respond with a heartfelt and sympathetic, "I know!" and leave off the "better than you do!"

Meet My Dad

(Hi everyone! I'm over here in America the Beautiful having a great time!)
I grew up at BYU, which isn't to say I was actually raised there , but I did spend a good deal of time there as a child. Mom worked at the library and dad at the photo lab.

I remember the smell of the library, which I didn't appreciate as a child, and climbing stairs there. I remember the smell of the photo lab, which I still don't appreciate, and dad letting us into the little circular chamber leading from the lab to the dark room. I remember being scared of being in that small space, in pitch blackness and always being afraid of what might be there when I came into the light, or the darkness of the dark room (I never knew which to expect while turning that curved, sliding door). Maybe that was because of all the weird odors.

We ran around on the grounds of campus. We played hide and seek at the Tree of Life. We hopped from stone to stone of those paving blocks outside the bookstore. I always felt a little irreverent doing that, as I knew they were actually tombstones. We spent good, long minutes drooling over the display of fudge and all the piles and piles of candy in the bookstore. Over and over and over again.

Then we moved away.

On one of our early trips back to visit family in Utah we all knew we'd be going to BYU. In the weeks before the trip we talked about all the things we'd see and do. Once when we were talking about the candy counter my dad heard the anticipation in our voice and felt he should warn us, "Oh, you guys, they don't have any more candy at BYU."

We stared. "They what?" "They don't have any more candy." "You mean like that candy counter? It's gone? Even in the Twilight Zone? Why? Are they trying to keep people from being unhealthy? Is it a new policy, like the no caffeinated drinks thing?"

We were very confused and very disappointed. He kept replying that he didn't know why, he just knew they didn't have any more candy.

I almost didn't even want to visit campus anymore.

But we did. And we went to the bookstore. And. . . THERE WAS THE CANDY, just as it had always been, colorful and tempting as ever. How could this be? Then we ran over thinking maybe it was actually just the Twilight Zone. Candy galore.

When my dad came back from visiting friends in the photo lab we accosted him. "What happened? You said. . .?" etc.

"What?", he wondered with an innocent (read mischievous) expression on his face. "I said they don't have any more candy, right?" We agreed and pointed all around at the mountains of sweet stuff, question marks all over our faces.

"Well, do they have any more? I don't think they do have any more. Probably there isn't any less, either, but I don't think there's any more."

Yeah. That's my dad. Taking advantage of the fact that we couldn't see the space between the any and the more every time he said it. It means a totally different thing when there's a space in there.

I know I'm a few days late, and I won't go on about how much I love my dad (though I do!) but this story is a great example of the many, many things my dad said to us growing up that reeeeeally shaped the way I am today.

Other examples include his response to our (probably constant) complaints that our something or other hurt (if it was our right elbow he'd ask us to give him our left so he could even it out, or so the other wouldn't seem to hurt so much) or that it hurt when we did this (like raised our arm or whatever, to which he replied, "Then don't do that!"). Plus all the times he "ate" an ant that was on my raspberry or a gnat that was in my soup. (I was a little disappointed a few years ago when I mentioned this to him and he told me that he must have been teasing because he would never eat those things on purpose. I WATCHED HIM DO IT! With my very own seven year old eyes which don't miss anything!)

I love my dad.

I Like Nike

I'm sorry for the problems!  The picture should be up now.

(Of course the "Nike" in the title is meant to be read the way I pronounced it as a girl, with the silent "e".  Also, I don't actually like Nike (or at least not the ones I'll be writing about) so pretty much every single thing about that title is wrong, except for that you can take out the "N" out of it and have a rhyming political catch phrase from the 50's, which  I'm assuming you already knew.  And if you didn't then everything about the title is wrong)

There was a time in my life when I did more than just sit on my lazy rear all day.  I ran cross country and track in tenth grade (yes, only tenth grade).  Since then I have loved running off and on.  Mostly off, though.  

My second year at Ricks College I started to notice that my pants weren't fitting me right (or at all) and also that I hadn't eaten a single vegetable in months.  I was getting up to clean the library every morning at 4am and my health wasn't the best anyway.  I decided to get it in gear.  

I started eating things like a bowlful of canned green beans (I used to believe that those were vegetables)  for a snack or meal.  I also decided to start exercising in the mornings after my shift at the library instead of going home and going back to sleep.

First I tried weight lifting.  With free weights.  Free weights are no good for people with spastic tendencies so I decided to try running.  It was winter (and you don't know winter till you've experienced one in Rexburg Idaho) so I had to use the indoor track, which was eight laps to the mile. 

Running around a tiny little circle in a dark room at seven in the morning after vacuuming and mopping floors and removing gum from carpets for three hours.  I was dedicated.

So much so, in fact that over the Christmas break while I was back home I decided to buy some new running shoes.  My old Saucony's that I just LOVED were dying and needed replacing.  I went shopping with Erin, my best friend from high school, who also attended Ricks and with whom I regularly swapped stories about the guys we had crushes on.

It came down to some UGLY-but-perfect-in-every-other-way Saucony's, or some cutest-shoes-on-planet-earth-but-much-more-like-not-very-comfortable-cross-trainers-than-running-shoes Nike's.  I ran laps in the mall a few times with each pair, and there was no question which pair I should get.  I already loved Saucony's as my runni

ng shoe of choice, and these ones felt GREAT.  But why did they have to be ugly and gray and bright orange (or what is yellow)?  (the Nike's were mostly white with a little bit of turquoise and dark purple.  Remember 1995?)

I hemmed and hawed over this forEVER, and finally Erin told me I should just go with the Nike's.  Her logic was too much for me to resist when she said, "What if you meet the man of your dreams while you're running?"  I'm not kidding when I say that that is why I bought the Nike's.  I'm also not kidding when I say "What on earth was I thinking?" and "Was I really ever that lame?"

So I wore those Nike's running early mornings on the indoor track.  I was looking awesome but running was seriously about 10% as enjoyable in my new shoes as it had been in my old Saucony's or would have been in my new ones, had I bought them.

I ran and I ran.  And I consistently didn't meet the man of my dreams.  In fact, the only person I do remember meeting was President Bennion, the President of Ricks College, who ran laps the same time I did every day, and who I wasn't particularly interested in making a good impression on with my footwear.

So you could say that the story has a sad ending, but I did end up running a lot with friends at BYU, one of whom  was the man of my dreams.  I just wasn't wearing those shoes when I met him.  And he is the last person that would ever care about what I had on my feet.

And here I am 14 years later having done so little exercise that I still have ONLY those same Nike's as my shoes to be active in (although even when walking across town I just wear my every day shoes and in the summer I only wear sandals or flip flops).  They're pretty worn, but WOW.  And they're even less comfortable today than they were then, as my feet have "grown".  

I still think they look pretty awesome, though.  

I'm not a fan of pictures of old shoes, but I had an afterthought to include one anyway, so here it is.

You can tell it was an afterthought because I would never say "I... think they look... awesome" if I knew I'd be including a picture, but I'm leaving it anyway.   And sorry they're lar

ger than life.

Weak

Thanks to my friend Sarah for inspiring today's post with this post of hers.

Twenty three years ago this month (I'm freaking out just writing that. Since when did I ever talk about twenty three years ago!) I was ten years old.  I had been at the Dentist with my mom and sister and two little brothers (we were known as the four little kids).  The two oldest boys, Jon and Adam and my oldest sister, Susan (known as the big kids) had stayed home doing some work around the house.  

We drove into the carport and I hopped out of our huge, olive green station wagon.  As everyone else piled out behind me, Su and Adam came rushing from around the side of the trailer.  They both starting jabbering frantically in high pitched tones.  Something had happened.  Dad had taken Jon to the hospital.  I didn't grasp what they were saying, I don't think, but as we followed them around the corner of the house we could see the blood dripped all over the path to the stairs leading up to the kitchen door.  The kitchen floor was also covered in blood.  There was no question where Jon had been.  

Eventually some of these details became apparent to me (not sure if I'm getting these right, but here's what I remember).  Dad and Jon had been working with the lawn mower.  I think there had been something wrong and they were going to turn it over, or lift it.  The blade hadn't stopped spinning and Jon had put his hand under the edge of one side to lift it.  And, bye-bye finger tips.  

Dad had rushed Jon into the house to care for him and asked Su to scour the yard for the rest of Jon's fingers and pick them up and bring them to him in a little towel.  (Lucky Su.)  He had to get that boy to the emergency room ASAP.  Not perfectly clear on the details here, but I've certainly pictured poor Su tip-toeing around the back yard in search of the finger fragments.  *shudder*

Once I had an idea of what had happened I remember running down the hallway to the avocado fixtured bathroom.  I shut and locked the door and I started bawling.  I kept thinking about how much I loved Jon.  I cried and cried until I could cry no more and then I just stared in the mirror.

This was the same mirror that I had stood before many times to do Bloody Mary.  You know, where you say Bloody Mary over and over and something is supposed to happen but never does?  Even at that time I recognized both the morbid similarity and the incongruousness of what I'd used this mirror for before and what I was feeling now.  After staring at my red puffy eyes for a minute I folded my arms and bowed my head and I spoke to Heavenly Father in the most sincere prayer of my life up until that point.  

I'm not sure what I thought would happen or what exactly I prayed for, but praying helped and I knew everything would be okay.  

It turns out only the very tips of the last three digits on his left hand had been cut and once they healed, the middle finger was the only one that you could even tell was missing a part (as they were unable to sew on what Su's search had produced).  

********

Like most mothers, I have often contemplated how I would react if something drastically dangerous happened to one of my kids.  Could I stay calm under pressure?  Could I comfort the child and take care of the injury in an intelligent way, all while dealing with my own freaking out?

Like most mothers, we've had a few good spills.  Nothing major, but some baaaad knee skinnings and that sort of thing.  I used to be quite good.  I could handle it very well.  Lately, though?  I'm not quite so good.  

My stomach totally does a flop when I even think about a serious injury.  David once knocked his front teeth pretty badly and they were all a little wiggly and bleeding.  While I was cleaning him up and checking things out I just felt ILL.  I was still good about the not freaking out and about the comforting etc. but my stomach did not handle it well, and it wasn't even an open wound! 

I just have a weak stomach.  I don't even handle the sight of blood well anymore which I NEVER thought I'd say.  Aren't you supposed to get more used to stuff like this instead of less?  

And it just makes me wonder how in the world my dad was feeling that day 23 years ago.

Do You Really Mean That?

I've been feeling quite nostalgic lately and I wanted to write about something from my past but every time I start pulling out memories I come up with things like this:

In kindergarten on Valentine's day my dearly beloved teacher (I really did think she was an angel) took us to the back of the room one at a time while everyone was coloring to help us "deliver" our Valentines to the correct little mailbox that we'd made a few days before and which now sat on the counter in the back. (can you say RUN-ON?)  We delivered all of mine and my teacher got very upset and started yelling at me, "What?  That's only 13.  Where are the rest of your Valentines?  How do you think those kids will feel who don't get a Valentine from you!?!  You HAVE to bring a Valentine for EVERY child!"  This rang through the entire, silent classroom.  

I'm pretty sure not ONE of the kids who didn't get a Valentine from me felt 1/100th as bad as I did after that.

Or this one:

On my first date at Ricks College, after a fun Hawaiian themed dinner, I went with a few couples to one of the empty buildings in the evening and we had some kind of race or scavenger hunt around the building (maybe it was hide and seek or something)  in three-legged form.  As in, my right leg was tied to the left leg of this guy that I really liked but hardly knew at all and we ran around the building up and down stairs etc.  For me at that point anything extremely hilarious + kind of embarrassing =ed disaster.  I peed my pants.  I pretended like I hadn't and when we all met up at the end I announced that I needed to go home for a second, and told my friend aside what had happened.

I ran home to change my clothes so we could go to get ice cream for the next part of the date.  While I was there the phone rang.  It was my dad.  He asked how I was doing and I told him that I was in the middle of this awesome date, except I was at home now changing my clothes because of this embarrassing happening.  He laughed and said, "It sounds like you're having a good time."  Then he tried his best to transition smoothly into giving me the news that my grandpa had just died.  My first grandparent to go.  

That was pretty bad.  And then when all of the people in our date group came to the apartment I learned that they all knew about my accident (Thanks Melissa!  Actually, I wasn't too embarrassed, since I'm really practical like that.  Who cares, right?)  For some weird reason I decided to go get ice cream with them anyway.  It was a bad idea because I sort of put a damper on everything.  My date totally endeared himself to me, though with his super awesome concern etc.  He was (and I'm sure still is) a really neat guy.

So, yeah.  That's why I'm not writing about things from my past today.  (Oh, wait. . . Whatever.)

Instead I'll write about something else I've been planning to write for a long time. COMPLIMENTS!!  

Do you have compliments from your past that stick in your mind.  Do you ever pull them out when you need a little boost?  Can you think of a few that really stand out?  

I can!   (I'm such a dork)

I'm going to share some of mine with you, and then I would LOVE to hear some of yours in the comments if you'll share.  If not (in which case: why not!?!) I encourage you to think about them for yourself at least, anyway.  Here they are, on subjects that I think we all get compliments on.

On Physical Appearance:  

Senior year of high school.  I came home for lunch before rushing off to work as always.  My mother was home alone, as usual, but she had a woman from our ward there working on her hair.  This woman was a beautician and her sister was a model and they were both sort of in the business.  When I came into the room she said, "Wow!  Have you ever thought about going into modeling?"  My mother responded with, "Oh, because of her long legs and slender frame?"  and the lady said, "Well, I was thinking mostly because of her eyes and teeth!"  (I was such a teenager to let this stick with me for so long)

On  Brains:

I had said something about how dumb I was (I don't do this anymore) and a friend leaned over to 2 year old Ewelina and said, "I'd love to be as dumb as your mom!"

And once when we were dating Greg said something about how you could tell that I was smart by how I spoke or something.  I had sort of thought of myself as a dumb blonde for some years, I think.

On Sense of Humor:

"You are a funny, funny girl."  Repeated often by the roommate that I most admired for how hilarious she was (is).

On Polish Language Skills:

This is two days ago:  "Sister Pawlik, you're a stud!"  (um, thanks?) This from a missionary after the meeting wherein I had shared my testimony.  He told me that he couldn't even understand half of what I said (he's been in Poland for like 4 months)  I assured him that none of the Poles could understand what I said either.  

So you see how easy I am to please.  Now tell me why YOU'RE so awesome.  (as if I don't already know)  Maybe yours will be less superficial than mine.  Maybe it is something you overheard someone saying about you (those are the best compliments, the ones you're not intended to hear).  Just tell me something! (please)  

My Life In 25 Things

Yes, I'm doing this one.  You're totally allowed to skip it, too.

1.  I lived in a trailer park until I was 11. 

2.  I had nightmares of dogs running into our backyard while I was playing there.  They never caught me or anything, but I just remember the terror of them running at me.

3.  I used to love mayonnaise sandwiches (bread, mayonnaise)

4.  I was surprised and thought my mom was so generous the day she told us to please stop asking every time we wanted a piece of bread and to just go ahead and get one whenever we wanted.

5  I had my first "boyfriend" when I was in 5th grade.  He was my paperboy and he brought me candybars when he delivered our paper.  We passed notes during recess and then one day I called him "Natey-poo" and after that we weren't an item anymore.  Oops.

6.  We moved to California when I was 11.

7.  I'd been feeling like an outsider in Utah before we moved, but I felt even more out of place in California.

8.  The one thing that helped me transition, besides my good friend and next door neighbor Sarah, was my jumproping.  I didn't exactly need to be with anyone if I was jumping during recess.  Also,  it sort of made people respect me.  (I'd been on a team in Utah)

9.  My last two years of high school were the best ever as I found a great crowd to be with.  We had a blast.

10.  I left home at 17 to start school (Ricks College) and only ever lived at home again for one summer (I think).

11.  I loved my years at Ricks like crazy and learned tons about early childhood education, but even more about life, the gospel and myself.

12.  Besides my first real boyfriend at Ricks (lasted 3 months and ended with the school year, and much like in number 5 I said something totally completely and unintentionally dumb in response to his confession of love and it marked the downfall of our relationship--and in case you're wondering, it wasn't anything sarcastic) I didn't really do much dating until I moved to BYU to live and work there after graduating from Ricks.

13.  I didn't really do all that much dating at BYU either, but I did TONS of hanging out (which I prefer anyway).

14.  I left Provo to escape the rollercoaster of my relationship with Greg (and to live near my sister, and because I really wanted to be a nanny).

15.  The father in the family that I nannied for called me Cinderella because I slept in the dungeon (basement) and did all the work and was still always happy (or so he said). 

16.  The girl I nannied was a perfect angel.  She was barely two and any time she started in on a tantrum out of frustration I taught her to say, "Help me, please!" instead, and she always did.  I often heard her dad talking about the amazing things she would say or how mature she was.  His wife would tell him, "I think Lisa taught her that."  My vanity made me a little glad of that.  (heaven forbid her dad just think that she was naturally so bright!)

17.  I was only back in Provo for a week before the wedding.  We had a rule that we could not be alone in an apartment (room yes, apartment, no) until we were married.  Fortunately we were both staying in apartments full of roommates, but it meant that often one of us would be standing out in a blizzard while the other ran into our apartment (that we started renting before we moved into it) to grab something.  I still think it was a smart idea.

18.  Shortly after we were married I took Accutane.  It broke my back and I couldn't keep up with dishwashing and other home and work (mother's helper) responsibilities.  My back problems are recurring, since then, and the medication only cleared up my skin for a year or two.

19.  I don't like meat very much and sort of want to be a vegetarian.  But I'm too lazy.  And I do like some meat.  And I'm not as good with vegetables as I'd probably need to be.

20.  I sort of fear being judgemental or self-righteous, but I think I'm a little of each, or at least come off that way.

21.  I've liked my hands for a while (since my best friend in high school used to say how nice they were, which is maybe weird, but whatever) and I think that's why my fingers are not straight anymore and I might be getting arthritis.  Same goes for my legs which I've always been happy with from the side view (not from the front or back) but now I can never wear shorts- or skirts without tights- ever again because of vericose veins.   I think this might be to check my vanity.  And I think this (number 21) might be a little too weird, but I'm not taking it off my list. 

22.  I really love my life.

23.  I think I could be a much better mother if I tried. Which is why I'm slowly cutting down on blog reading. 

24.  I really love the church leadership in Poland.

25.  I'm hoping I can respond to Erin's post sooooooon.

I realize this isn't the most upbeat of posts, but I think it's just kind of how I'm feeling right now. . .

Part VI: A Relationship (Becomes Forever)

One could say that this is the sixth part in my finding and catching my man story. Or one might just call it an anniversary post. Actually, there are any number of things it could be called. The story begins here but if you're not up for six posts, the last one was here. I'm only saying this because some people actually do go back and read them all. I'm that kind of person, too.

I left my nannying position. I had made my peace with the family I was leaving behind, and if I felt unsure and a little sick about the new nanny I'd found for them, they didn't seem too concerned. I had to be okay with it, too. (I'm leaving that subject but I just have to say that a little while after we were married I talked to the sister of the nanny and asked how her sister was doing with little Ali. She told me, "Oh, she hates it. She says Ali is such a little bratt!" If I hadn't been full of the glow of newlyweddedness, I would have had a really hard time getting over that. Ali! A bratt!? Cutest, smartest, sweetest little Ali!?! Especially since a child's level of brattiness usually is a reflection of the kind of care they are getting.) When he dropped me off at the airport, the dad handed me an envelope and told me it was to help us get started in our new life together. It contained several hundred dollars. It reminded me somewhat of the muffin he'd offered early on in our coming to understand and forgive each other. Excellent closure there.

I arrived in Provo on December 13th, exactly one week before my wedding. I stayed at my old apartment with some old roommates and sometimes at the studio apartment Greg had found and rented for our first little home together. I remember very little about that week. I don't think I did any planning or anything; everything was taken care of and Greg was in the midst of finals.

I bought a very simple but elegant white dress that I would wear for my wedding and use as my temple dress thereafter. The night before the wedding I stayed with my family in a hotel in Salt Lake City while they did last minute planning of who would sit where during our wedding brunch.

In the morning I met Greg in the temple. He had washed his recommend and a few very early morning calls had to be placed to bishops and stake presidents, and then we were a go.

This was just the first of many, many sealings I would do in the temple in my life, but I was so very glad it was the first. Is not the sealing ceremony and the covenants made and blessing promised the most beautiful and glorious of all? I almost couldn't take it all in. I really felt as if my Father was there, making this as real as any heavenly visitation. Of course He was there. I was, afterall, making these covenants with Him as well as with my handsome groom.

We were married. We were happy. I was only slightly aware of the unusual way we were doing it. I didn't even wear my white dress outside the temple for pictures (it was too simple and would have looked silly, I think). I just wore a red velvet dress that I had worn as a bridesmaid a year or two before. I know, how wrong does that sound? But it wasn't wrong! We came out of the temple and my family and our friends were gathered there to greet us. It felt, again, like heaven. So many smiling faces of people I love, and the man at my side that will be there forever.

I really, really love and appreciate this man. It's amazing to think of how much we have grown. Moving away from my home and family, while not always easy for either of us, has brought us so close together and has really brought out the very best in him.

He is a great Pole. He is a patriot. He loves and fights for his country in his way every day. He is a hard worker, which I posted about long ago. He is a spiritual giant. He has such a passion for truth and knowledge. He loves his Heavenly Father and his Savior and he relies on the spirit for guidance. He is often overwhelmed with the grace of God.

He is handsome. He is smart. He is funny (understatement). And he is modest about these qualities. Put these together and you have the recipe for the perfect man! And that's just what he is!

He, like me, is slightly anti-social. Well, he's anti social, and I don't have a great need for a lot of social contact. Yes, that's a better way to put it. When he bought his glasses a few month ago, I was shocked that he would want to buy thick plastic frames (I loved them but I didn't think he'd ever wear them) He explained that he was hoping that now people would just look at him, see the glasses and figure he was an introvert and not try to talk to him. Nice! :) And it's funny that he's "anti-social", because he sort of beams in some social settings. For example, put him in a group of young single adults here in Poland, and he is the life of the party, without meaning to be. They look up to him, and I'm glad they do, because I hope they'll all become just like him. Or much like him, anyway. He is also like this at work. He is a wonderful manager.

He is a terrific dad. He loves to teach the kids interesting things. He shares his talents and interests with them, things they could never learn from me. He is hard on them when they need it. He is loving and sympathetic when they need that.

He is the best husband I could ever ask for. I just realized that the things he gives me a hard time about are things like not always keeping my keys in the same place all the time. Or not finishing my sentences or expressing myself clearly. Sometimes I think he is so unfair about these things. How funny. How very, very silly of me!

He forgives me my biggest, most obvious faults. He trusts me. He knows that I want to be a better person and lets me get on with that, without giving me a daily rundown of the things I keep doing wrong. How does he do that!?! How does he see me neglecting things that need to be attended to and just know that I am aware of them, and therefore resist the urge to call me out on them? He is merciful.

He is supportive. He has always told me I'm the best mother in the world. I'm sure husbands just say this, but he really means it, even though he's wrong. He has allowed me to raise the kids the way I see fit (with only a tiny bit of compromise) and has even adopted my methods and now swears by most of them. He makes me feel so empowered.

Because, as I mentioned, I don't need or desire a great deal of social contact, and because I am lazy and have not learned to speak Polish as quickly as I should have (and therefore have made few friends), and because we live far away from a church congregation, and because that congregation doesn't have any women that I can relate to anyway, and because, despite all the rest, I still like to talk a lot and give all sorts of detail, Greg gets dumped upon on a daily basis. He hears it all. Even when I do meet with friends and have great discussions, all that means is that he gets a play-by-play of the conversation (both sides), and not that he's spared a little of what I shared with those ladies.

He is my visiting and home teacher, my circle of friends, my family, my book group, and the Relief Society sisters that bring dinner when I really just cannot cook a meal tonight. He rarely tells me I'm beautiful but constantly compliments me on my mothering, cooking, and sense of humor, the things I actually care about.
He loves me.
And I love him.

Part V: The Before We Were Married Story

This story begins here if you're crazy and want to read the whole thing.

I was ecstatic. I was over the moon. I was getting married.

The people I was nannying for were more than surprised. "Oh! Greg!?! The one who you're just friends with?" and "Are you sure you're not just rushing into this because of your parents' situation?" (they were in the process of separation/divorce). If anything, I would be less interested in getting engaged/married right away because of that.

Now came time for planning. So let's see. . . we're at the beginning of November. My nannying contract ends at the beginning of next August. . .Greg has his plans for Christmas and I am excited to travel with the family I'm nannying for to places like Italy and France (I think) and Utah and Colorado (avid skiers). Looks like it's going to be a Very Long Engagement in terms of both time and distance.

But wait!! Why not get married during the Christmas holidays!?! Then maybe some of our friends would still be around before leaving BYU for the break, to attend the wedding/reception. As soon as the idea was formed there was no going back. As if I was going to wait almost a year when we could get married in. . . seven weeks. Oh. Seven weeks. Wow! Seven weeks! That was coming right up!

The family I nannied for were very upset about this decision. They didn't really talk to me about it outright, but they were upset. And it showed. And soon it started showing even more obviously. When I was not on duty, they kept the little girl from me. I would walk in Sunday afternoon after church and Ali would come running to me and her dad would shout, "Alicia! Come back here!" and the poor, confused little two year-old would turn back around and go to her father. She also wasn't allowed to come downstairs and play in the evenings either. I know there were two reasons for this behavior. First of all they didn't want her to get too attached to me. Well it was too late for that, of course, but they wanted to help her become unattached. And secondly they were upset and wanted to punish me.

This was so hard on me. I ate dinner with the family, and where there used to be plenty of conversation and way too much teasing (the dad was a major teaser), there was little if any conversation and zero teasing. This lasted for some weeks. In the meantime, I was doing all I could to find a replacement for myself since I was breaking my contract. (I never actually signed anything--which I know doesn't matter--but I took the job after being assured that I would have Internet access and they also said that they would pay for me to take night classes. Neither of these options were available once I got there. So I felt like they hadn't kept up their end of the deal, either. I know, I'm justifying it. Whatever.)

One night I was crying on the phone to my mom. I was feeling overwhelmingly ostracized and hurt that the parents were trying to turn my favorite little girl against me. I was telling my mom everything. At some point a head peeked in my bedroom door. It was the dad. He saw that I was bawling, and had probably heard at least some of what I'd been saying to my mom. When the rest of his body followed his head into the room, I saw that he was carrying a little plate with two warm muffins on it and a glass of milk. He walked in and set them on the night stand by my bed, where I was sitting. Then he walked out.

There was something in his expression as he brought in that gesture of of forgiveness. Forgiveness that he was both granting and asking for. I also felt a tinge of guilt that he had heard me gossipping about him. For all these reasons I sobbed even harder. I looked at myself truthfully and was relieved to find that I hadn't been unfair in what I'd been telling my mom. I'd been giving facts and explaining how they made me feel. I think I was okay there. And I was so grateful for the humility it must have taken for him to make that gesture. And of course I was grateful for the muffins, too! Although, I don't remember thinking as much about the physical muffins as about what they represented. (I know! Even I can get past my obsession for baked goods sometimes!)

After that things changed for the better. We started talking. There wasn't as much banter as there had been before, but we were on good terms again, with only a little bit of awkwardness.
I loved my job. They tried to convince me that after we were married Greg should move in with me into their basement. I could nanny and Greg could transfer to a school nearby.They tried to make this option as attractive as possible. I sort of loved the idea, but it really wasn't all that feasible.

All this time Greg was responsible for putting the show together. I think my mother was his biggest helper, but he really did much of the arranging. I did nothing. He booked us a date at the Salt Lake temple on December 20th. There were --- sealings being preformed on that day. Ours was at eight thirty a.m. One of Greg's very best friend's was at eight. Oops. Our mutual friends had to make a choice. And we couldn't attend each other's weddings. Oh well, marriage is the main thing we were all after, and we were getting that, at least. We decided against a reception. Greg had no family (blood related, at least) to attend, and the people I grew up around were all in California. Plus we knew a lot of people would already have gone home for the holidays, and would therefore be out of state. Plus I never cared about things like receptions. I mean, if the situation had been different I would have probably wanted one, but mostly I wanted to be married.

All this time I'd been searching for a replacement nanny. One of the girls who had lived in the apartment upstairs from me in Provo had a sister that might be interested. She was! And she had some experience with children. In talking to her on the phone I wasn't blown away by her, but she sounded nice. The parents talked to her as well and agreed that she was the one. I was so relieved!

Two weeks before the wedding this girl, let's call her Emma, came out. I would train her for a few days before heading to SLC. She was quiet. She didn't really seem interested in Ali. After the first day spent together I realized that I needed to back off and let her get to know her on her own. We went to the mall. There was an orchestra playing on the level below. I was so excited to show Ali and talk all about it with her, but I stopped myself. I suggested that Emma show her. Emma took her to the glass overlooking the lower level. Ali was pointing and talking and Emma was leaning against the handrail staring at people walking by. I was so mad. I'm sure I shouldn't have been, but I was, and I went over and squatted down by Ali and listened to her and explained about some of the instruments, etc. I tried to teach Emma about getting down on Ali's level and trying to teach her and interest her in things. But I could tell Emma was not that kind of girl.

I was SO sad. Like, I cried about it (and I didn't have PMS). Ali was the most amazing little girl. She could talk a mile a minute. She was so smart and well behaved. She had barely turned two and I had taught her that instead of throwing a fit when something wasn't going right, she should just come to me and say, "Please help me!" And she did. All the time. She almost never threw any sort of fit at all. As I say, she was amazing. And beyond adorable. And Emma didn't care about that AT ALL.

I felt so bad and I talked to the parents about it. We told stories back and forth about things Emma had said or done or neglected to do. I was seriously appalled. The parents seemed to think it would be okay, though. They were fine with it. I was glad. And sad, at the same time.

Okay, I'm all typed out (if you're even reading, still!) More another day.

Part Six

Part IV: A Relationship with Some Long Distance Parts

This story begins here and links can be followed at the bottom of each part.

Greg finished his translation gig with the Polish TV crew and was back home for my last week in Provo. We spent every waking minute together. It was bittersweet to feel so close, while anticipating the Great Separation.

hiking to Squaw Peak

I had been teased a tiny bit here and there that maybe Greg would pop the question before I could leave for my nannying job, but I laughed it off. The day before I left, there was a ward party at the bishop's house. I remember Greg was off talking to someone and I was sitting on the grass with a bunch of his roommates. One of them (the one who was going to ask me out and then asked my roommate out instead, who also, incidentally, asked me out while Greg was translating in SLC. Hello?) told me that he was willing to bet that Greg would ask me to marry him before I left (this 10 days after having asked me out to a movie behind Greg's back. I suppose he was thinking it couldn't hurt to try before it was too late*?).

I was a little a-flutter. What if? Could it be? No, probably not. It just didn't seem very likely. But he didn't seem too sad that I'd be leaving. He seemed as cheerful as ever. We had about 24 hours. Hmmmm.

The next day went far too quickly. Nothing happened. In the late afternoon a bunch of friends got together for a little farewell party. We got a few pictures with everyone and some of just me and Greg.

Then I said good bye and drove off. I was heading to California to spend a day or two at home, and would fly out to Maryland from there. While in California Greg and I spent a lot of time IMing each other. It was so nice. Still, it felt kind of strange to just go straight from dating to not dating, when we still talked to each other like we were dating.

I arrived in Maryland and met the ADORABLE little almost-two-year old and her parents. She was super cute and smart. Her parents were very nice and accommodating. I had the basement level to myself. Everything was perfect. I cried and cried anyway, and wondered what I had done. Here I was, far from the people I loved in this big empty house with people I didn't know. I had been promised that I would have email access, but there wasn't any. Instead I would just pay for my own phone calls.

I talked to Greg on the phone a couple of times in the first week. His accent was significantly more romantic over the phone. Plus he spoke all softly and I had to be sitting down because it sort of made my knees wobbly. I had assured the people I was living with that Greg and I were just friends. I was trying to assure myself, too.

At the end of the second phone call, Greg asked when we would talk again. I suggested maybe in one week? I didn't want to sound too eager, but I certainly didn't want to wait a whole week, either. He quickly agreed. DANGIT!

After a week of focusing on that darling girl and my new responsibilities, I called him on the appointed night. From the outset he seemed low. I tried to be cheerful and get him to act normal. I was hoping that it wasn't that he didn't want to talk to me. After much wheedling and prying he said, in a very quiet voice, "Obviously you don't like me as much as I like you." HA!! Right. Here I was trying to ensure that he didn't sense how smitten I was with him, and he was claiming I didn't really like him? I asked him how in the world he could know that. He said, "Because you didn't want to talk to me for a whole week and I've been wishing I could talk to you every day!" HA again!! We cleared that misunderstanding right up and decided that we would talk on the phone for ten minutes every night, instead of for an hour once a week. I was happy. I was very happy.

In one of our early conversations I asked what he had done on the weekend. He told me he'd been on a date. With some girl his roommate set him up with. "And?" I asked. "I just kept thinking, this would be so much more fun if she was Lisa." I tried to talk some sense into him and told him that he couldn't expect to have as much fun with someone he didn't know as with someone he knew very well. It would take some time. He knew all that, but told me that after two dates (with two different girls) he wasn't all that excited about dating.

I was getting involved in my singles ward. I was 20 years old and most of the other members were more like 25-40. I still enjoyed it. During the days I was busy going to story time at Borders and Gymboree and libraries and playgrounds, and cooking dinners. Weekends I often drove out to visit my sister and her husband where I could do email. I also had lots of church activities and meetings. There was even one guy in the ward (seriously, one guy) that seemed like prime dating material and I wanted to keep my options open. Still, every day I lived for that ten minute conversation with Greg.

I planned a trip to Utah in October for General Conference weekend. It was wonderful to be back "home." Greg and I were obviously "dating." I wondered what was going to happen to us. Apparently, while he'd been enjoying our last days together, he'd also been looking forward to his freedom. Once I was gone, he quickly realized that freedom was not what he wanted. It took me moving away for him to realize what he did want. And he realized it very soon after I left. Why, oh why didn't I move away 8 months earlier!

during the October visit

Back in Maryland one night on the phone our conversation steered in the neighborhood of marriage. Greg told me that he was just waiting for an answer. We both knew where we were headed. I realized that I had never thought to ask if I should marry Greg. It would be like asking if I should read my scriptures every day. Or whether or not I should eat vegetables. Some things are just obvious like that.

On Halloween he called. He cut right to the chase. "Lisa, I'm on one knee. -- (to roommate) Brad, am I on one knee? ('Yes! He's on one knee!') Will you marry me?" To which I replied, "BOO!" No, just kidding. I said "YES!!!"

He hadn't meant to ask me on Halloween, but he had been unable to contact my dad until then to ask for my hand. My dad had gotten a little sentimental and asked, "Are you going to take her far away from us?" The answer was yes, but really? I was already all the way across the country and Europe wasn't all that much farther.

Romantic, huh? Over the phone on Halloween! I'm SO not sappy-romantic and I LOVE that this is my story. This is how all my anxiety and jealousy and stress and insecurity came to a full and complete stop. He was MINE!! Mine forever. Or he would be soon, anyway!

Next post will be about how we planned a wedding from opposite sides of the country with the remaining nine months of my nannying contract to go. (I'm sure you're dying to read that one).

*Of course I said no (and probably hit him). I really liked this guy, but found it pretty creepy that he was asking me out behind his roommate's back.

Part Five

Part III: A Relationship with Some Long Distance Parts

(The next installment for SOS hosted by 2 hearts at My life in type. Theme "Long Distance Relationships." Beginning of the story here, and you can follow the links at the end of each post. Remember these posts are written as my own journal, but I'm still linking them up at Soap Opera Sunday. Whatever.)

Let's start this session with some pictures. This is sort of how I thought of Greg at first. Very Polish (skinny, tucked in shirt, Polish shirt and flag). He's the one on the left. On the right is Dewayne, one of the RMs who served in Poland. Funny guy. This is how he dressed to go to school. Just kidding. I think he was in a dance group or something.


Me sticking my head out of the kitchen window of our basement apartment. In the background you can see Greg's apartment]



Summertime roommate Sarah (long before she was Sarah of Hope is Power), me and Andrea (when she was just "Me" and there was no "3" in Me + 3) standing in our kitchen. Behind us on the left you see the door that leads to the stairs going outside. Behind us on the right you see the door to the bathroom. Right off of the kitchen. Disgusting. That apartment was a hole.


Now I've mentioned that Greg and I dated on and off. This morning I asked him if he'd write a post from his perspective (per Erin's suggestion). I knew he wouldn't be that excited about it, so I just asked him for his side of the story.

L: So why did we keep dating off and on?
G: Well, I always knew. [Here he gave an analogy that I won't share but basically saying that even though "he knew" he still felt like he couldn't be sure until he'd dated everyone else in the world] "I thought, it's so fun being with Lisa, but is it Lisa? Maybe this is just what it's like when you're dating a girl."
L: Oh, and I mentioned in my last post about how you were always visiting all the girls in the ward. Making the rounds to all their apartments. Just so you know.
G: What? I did not! I sometimes visited girl's apartments but not that much.
L: Of course you did. You liked so many girls and you would visit them all the time!
G: WHAT!?! I didn't like any girls in our ward. I went on a few dates with girls from work (MTC) but that's all.
L: No you were sorta after a bunch of girls in the ward. Remember S-----?
G: Oh yeah, but I wasn't interested in her for long.
L: And how about D----? You were really hung up on her.
G: Oh yeah.
L: And A-----? And remember J-----?
G: Okay, okay. You've made your point.

So no, I didn't misrepresent the case. He liked a lot of girls. Whenever we ended a dating term it was because one of us realized that HE was getting restless.

Once when we weren't dating, Greg and one of his roommates were taking dates snowshoeing. Brad was taking Andrea, and Greg was going with a girl from upstairs. The morning of, Greg called me to say that his date had some emergency come up and he wondered if I would go with him. I was so excited (but not too excited, as I was kind of the only person who he could count on going with him last minute, but snowshoeing? awesome!!...) Here we are:



That was a fun "date".

Just before Christmas Greg was making his travel plans. He always spent his Christmases with his "adoptive" American family, the Hughes, the family of one of his former mission companions, Vaughn. Vaughn's younger brother, Jason, was Greg's good friend and roommate. They always spent Christmas in Oregon and then headed down to San Fransisco to visit his Grandmother. For some reason we decided that from there, Jason and Greg should fly down to Burbank and visit me for a few days. They did and we had a great time, except for the fact that Greg and I acted like we were dating even though technically we weren't. Jason was a great sport and we did Hollywood, Disneyland, and a Singles New Years dance. During that Christmas in Oregon, Jason gave Greg some very good advice that got him thinking. Thinking, but not acting, really. (I think he gave him the idea that someone (specific) might steal me from him if he didn't make a permanent-type move. Of course I didn't know about this until after we were married)

I mentioned that I didn't really go on many actual dates. Everyone knew Greg and that he liked me and wouldn't ask me out because it was taboo. So Greg would see other girls 'til his heart was content (not really, he was never content until he realized what his problem was, which is at the end of the story) but I couldn't date anyone else.

I had a few guys tell me that they wanted to ask me out but they didn't want Greg to come after them. I was sort of flattered but mostly annoyed that I was missing opportunities. Once when I was going to a Christmas Around the World (or whatever that annual thing is at BYU where they have people performing from all different cultures) with my good friend Lance, he asked as we were pulling out of the driveway, "Are you sure I'm not making anyone too jealous, here?" Ugh!

Another time (when we weren't dating) when I was on my way to Greg's house I met one of his roommates in between our houses. I told him I was going to see Greg. He said he was on his way over to see Lisa because he had something to ask her. I told him I wasn't sure if she was at home, but he could go and check (this guy was really hilarious and didn't really hide the fact that he liked me). He looked a little flustered and then kept going on to my apartment. I felt a little weird, but since he kept going, I kept going, assuming I'd talk to him later. He came back to his apartment a little while later and I asked him what it was he needed. He said, "Oh, never mind." I found out later that he'd asked my roommate out on a very cool date.

It was more of the same all winter and spring. At the end of the school year (BYU and Head Start both) I started thinking that I really just needed to go somewhere where I would be able to date other people. Sticking around here wasn't working and it was keeping me hung up on Greg. Around this time Andrea stopped listening to me whine on and on about Greg. Of course I felt bad about having dumped everything on her (too bad people didn't have blogs back then, because I would TOTALLY have done what Cordy is doing. And the story would have been very similar, too, except the posts would have been 10 times as long) and I could feel that this was really going to help me get through this. (I know we never actually talked about this Andrea, but I do thank you for that).

Once, around this time, Greg and I went for a drive "to get lost" in the hills of Provo. We did this all the time and, on occasions when we actually found our way to the top, we would park and look over the city and chat. This time while we were talking about us I just told him flat out that there was no reason for us to give it another try anymore. I told him that there was no future for us. None. He disagreed and was upset that I was giving up on us and tried to convince me etc.

Heaven smiled on me (it often does, you see, because it's very nice like that). My sister (Su, married) who was soon to be moving away from Provo to Maryland told me of a nannying position available 45 minutes from where they would be living. I thought, NO WAY. Nannying? my thing. Waaaaaaay across the country from Greg? just what I needed. With family living nearby? I'll take it!!! This was seriously an answer to my prayers. I contacted the family and got the job. This was at the beginning of July. I would fly out early in August. My plan was to nanny for a year and save money for my mission.

For some reason Greg and I started dating again, without talking about it. Suddenly we were just holding hands and stuff. We were dating. This was the best period of dating ever. EVER. There was NO uncertainty. I didn't feel like he was at all restless. We both knew when it would end, and we cared so much about each other that we wanted to spend as much time together as we could before I left. It was heaven. We never talked about what would happen when I left.

For two of our last 4 weeks together Greg was in Salt Lake City helping a Polish television crew with translation. They were there to cover the 150th anniversary of the pioneers coming into the Salt Lake Valley. I missed him so much while he was gone, but loved to hear how the filming was going etc. Instead of having Greg help with translation, they decided to have him be the host/narrator of the entire documentary! He was a star, and had the opportunity to bear his testimony on screen for his entire country to hear!

I was able to attend the whatever-it's-called ceremony when the modern day "pioneers," who had made the trek to emulate their progenitors, came into the valley. Here we are, there on Ensign Peak. I've got my media pass around my neck (which meant I could go anywhere).




Do you guys know who Dan Rascon is? News anchor there in SLC, I think (looked it up, KUTV2 News). Back then he worked for the church and he was assigned to the Polish TV crew, so Greg spent those two weeks with him. We both think he's a really great person.

I had one other experience while the TV crew was in Provo. We went to a huge pioneer celebration at Cougar Stadium. Here I am on top of the stadium with some of the crew.



At one point all the missionaries from the MTC, thousands of them, came flooding onto the field and marched around the track singing a hymn. It was one of the most moving things I've ever witnessed. My sister had just left for her mission to Korea, so I was extra weepy. In that moment a sudden impression came over me that saddened me, and my tears of wonder and gratitude for those missionaries and the restored Gospel turned, for a moment, to tears of mourning for a loss. I understood that I was not going to serve a mission.

But I also knew I was flying out to my nannying job in one week.

Part Four