My love is like a red, red rose

So I've been staring at the computer for the last 20 minutes, trying to think of something to write about. Then, five minutes ago, Jeremy came home from teaching his evening class. I said, "Dude. What should I blog about?"

He said, "You could always blog about your love for me."

Silence.

The silence, of course, was not because I thought it was a bad idea. Rather, I was contemplating all of the many wonderful ways in which I could express my undying love for him. That's not quite the way he took it.

"I see that doesn't inspire you," he said.

Pause.

"Maybe I could write about National Poetry Month.... No. That's pretty boring."

He left to heat himself some dinner.

Then, like a potato exploding in the microwave, it hit me: I could combine my love for Jeremy with National Poetry Month. Perfecto!

So here, in honor of Jeremy, my undying love for him, and National Poetry Month, I offer you my favorite love poem: Shakespeare's Sonnet 116.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me prov’d,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.


Fantastic! True love, idealism, and beauty--all in 14 compact lines.

And since I'm no poet:

I love you pretty well, JB. I do indeed.

A teeny, tiny taste of spring

This week is Spring Break for me and Jeremy. This is a good thing, since it's been kind of an exhausting semester so far for both of us. My favorite thing about spring break is that Jeremy has let me sleep in until 8:30 every day. So happy! I'm not sure what Jeremy's favorite thing about spring break is, though I'd guess it has something to do with not preparing a 2 1/2 hour lecture.

Spring break in Syracuse is often something of a misnomer, since spring doesn't really arrive in full force for at least another month. You may recall our spring break trip to "Mexico" a few years ago as evidence that Central New York's weather will not be dictated by academic calendars.

But yesterday....

I almost hesitate to describe the glory and wonder of yesterday's weather, lest my joy should tempt the fates into sending another two feet of snow. But nevertheless, yesterday was truly thrilling after months of snow and dim lighting. The sun shone! The temperatures reached 50!

Jeremy took Clara to preschool then went to the library to grade midterms (see what I mean about not knowing what Jeremy likes about spring break?). Jonathan and I took advantage of the weather by opting for a stroll in the sunshine.


I will say that Jonathan is my most vampire-like child, in that he has grown too used to overcast skies and whimpers pathetically when he sees the sun. So I was not surprised when we left the apartment and he clenched his eyes shut for the first fifty yards of the walk while holding my hand. When he finally deigned to open his eyes, the first thing he said was, "Why are we walking?" I said, "Because it's wonderful to breathe the fresh air!" He thought for a moment then said, "Well, I will take a very big breathe."


We walked up the hill behind our apartment complex to a pleasant neighborhood, and Jonathan was thrilled by the number of large storm drains in the sidewalk. We stopped at every one and crouched down to watch the snow melt into the grate.

By the time we turned around, Jonathan was pretty tired, so I carried him home on my shoulders. But I rode the high of that walk for the rest of the day. Perhaps spring really is on the way...

Another Sam-Day

During the last week of February we celebrated Sam's seventh birthday. Every year I am astounded by how much time has passed, and seven years certainly feels like a long time to be without him in our family. But we still feel strongly that he is a very real part of our family, and we are comforted by our faith in the resurrection and forever families. I know we will see him one day.


It's been very important to me and Jeremy to have Sam's birthday be a happy day, a celebration of our family. I think we've been successful so far, because I'm pretty sure Clara and Jonathan think it's one of the best days of the year. They are happy to each get a little present (even if one of the presents was a doll house we found next to the dumpster a few days before we moved from Saint Paul--as if they're old enough to know or care about stuff like that). And they are equally happy to feast on a special dinner and a rare dessert (this year: funfetti cake with chocolate frosting). They are sweet and wonderful children, and when I look at them I can see Sam. The more they understand about their older brother, the more we can see a love for him deepen in their hearts. I'm grateful for that.

Marriage on the Rocks

In January 2001 I was living at Victoria Place apartments on 500 north in Provo. I was midway through my year as a student body officer in BYUSA, and I was having countless amazing experiences with wonderful friends. It was a good time.

One day, not long after the semester had begun, I went to visit my friend Will in his apartment. Will and I often engaged in verbal sparring, and on that day we were having a heated discussion about who knows what--something extremely "intellectual," I'm sure. Well, out of the back of his apartment walks this tall, skinny new roommate of Will's, and he introduced himself as Jeremy. Jeremy had been home from his two-year LDS mission to Singapore and Malaysia for less than a month, and my first impression of him was that he was cute, but a bit stiff. All right, I thought he was--as Clara would say--super-de-duper stiff. He just didn't even seem quite normal. But he was pretty good looking.

Of course, first impressions go two ways, and Jeremy thought I was some sort of crazed lunatic "femi-nazi" who was obsessed with arguing and being "right." But he did think I was pretty cute. At least I like to think he did.

Fast forward about five months. Summer had arrived in Provo. I was done with BYUSA. For any of you who have ever lived in Provo in the summer, you know it's a pretty idyllic time. I was working and taking some classes, but I was also more relaxed than I'd probably been for more than a year.

One afternoon, Jeremy and I found ourselves washing our cars together in the parking lot behind the apartments. It was a beautiful sunny day, marred only by the fact that I was stuck washing my car with the stiffest guy in the ward. And he was stuck washing his car with me. But we made the most of it, and at one point Jeremy made a joke that, as I recall, was slightly off-color and very surprising coming from someone who seemed to have absolutely no sense of humor. I laughed out loud. And suddenly I saw this guy in a very different light. He was no longer a humorless robot! How exciting!

Over the next several weeks, we started bumping into each other more and more often. I wasn't exactly stalking him, but I did become more aware of his comings and goings. Soon he started asking me to join him for dinner and for other outings, always as friends. I remember we used to frequent a really quite underwhelming hot dog place--a total hole in the wall that Jeremy loved. I can't remember what it was called--Tommy's?--but it specialized in greasy chili dogs topped with cheese, mustard, pickle, and fresh tomato. Romantic, I know, especially when perched on the restaurants only two mismatched stools. I was in heaven.

I remember one auspicious night in particular: a trip with a group of friends out into the desert for the August Perseid meteor shower. Imagine my elation when he lay down under the beautiful summer sky and invited me to rest my head on his folded arm. It had to be the most romantic group outing I'd ever been on.

Of course, the real problem with Jeremy at the time was that he was absolutely petrified of officially "dating" me. He told me much later that he knew if we were really dating, we would get married, and he just didn't feel ready to get married. So he did an amazing job of keeping me at arm's length while spending every moment of available time with me.

Stuck in this somewhat depressing state of limbo, I decided to move forward with my life. I was 21, almost done with school, and decided to take some time off to serve my own mission. The night I submitted my mission papers to be sent to Salt Lake, Jeremy came to meet me to walk me home from campus. What I didn't know is that the day before he'd driven to southern Utah to meet his parents, who drove up from Phoenix, where they were living at the time. While he was waiting for them, to counsel with them and figure out what on earth he should do about me, he parked his car (the trusty Golf!) and walked out into the red rock desert. He found a large rock to sit on, and sat fiddling with a few small rocks and pondering what he should do. He knelt to pray, and as he prayed he said he knew he would marry me. He put the small rocks in his pocket, met with his parents, then drove back to Provo.

When Jeremy walked me home that night from campus, he seemed unusually quiet and agitated. I kept asking him what was wrong, and finally, as we were walking east along 500 north, he said, "I don't know why it's taken me so long to realize this, but I love you." I was floored. I assumed he cared about me, felt a fair amount of affection to me, but this was big news! I didn't really know what to think, but I did know how I felt, so I told him I loved him, too. I was having a hard time, by that point, just putting one foot in front of the other, so we stopped to sit on the steps of Joaquin Elementary School. We spoke about nothing in a kind of awkward way, then I said, "I just don't know what you want me to do, Jeremy. Do you want me to not go on a mission because something's possible here?" He paused, looked at me and said, "No, because something's probable here.

He then proceeded to get down on one knee. He took my hand in his and asked me to marry him. I said yes.

Three months later, on February 16, 2002, we were married in the Oakland LDS Temple. That was nine years ago today, and not a day has passed since that I have not been grateful I said yes. We have weathered countless storms together, always with the conscious choice to let our struggles bring us closer together. We have traveled all around the country together. We've had three beautiful children. We've seen the darkness of death, made lighter by the bright promise of eternity. We've laughed, we've argued, we've cried, we've teased. He's been my best friend, my confidant, my truest love.

A few years ago, I was dusting off Jeremy's desk and picked up a few old rocks that had sat there for as long as we'd been married. "Jeremy," I said, "Why do you keep these rocks on your desk? They make it a lot harder to keep your desk clean." He looked at me and said, "Those are the rocks I picked up in the desert the day I prayed about asking you to marry me. I like keeping them around."

So do I, Jeremy.

Happy 9Y, JB. I sure do love you.

Love Bug (Hissssssssssss)

Valentine's Day is swiftly approaching, and I know that some of my faithful readers may still be fretting about the ideal gift to give to that special someone. Please, look no further.

For a mere $10, the Bronx Zoo will name one of their 58,000 Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches after the one you love. That's right! Your truest and dearest could actually have a living cockroach with their very own name. It sounds too good to be true, I know, but it's totally legit--and extremely memorable.

The best part of the whole thing: the Zoo's tagline for this timeless gift:

Flowers wilt. Chocolates melt. Roaches are forever.

Snowflakes falling all around. Seriously: ALL around.

Syracuse, in broad sense, is very good at several things:

1. Having many Wegmans at which to purchase my groceries.
2. Being home to a consistently stellar college basketball team.
3. Finding ways to help us eke out a living year after year.

But what Syracuse is particularly good at is attracting snow. Lots of snow.

This season, for example, as of last night it has snowed 98 inches in Syracuse. For those of you who, like me, struggle to do your 12 times tables much past 12 times 5, that's just over 8 feet. Since we've been here, it's snowed just over two feet, which doesn't even count this morning's ridiculous storm, which had us crawling to church in whiteout conditions. (As a side note: not everyone finds this even remotely dismaying. Our kids, for example. Also, when we arrived at church, our good friend who has a plowing side business was plowing the parking lot. We greeted him, and he said, with a spectacular grin: "It's like it's raining money!")

So yes, it snows here. A lot. We knew this, having lived here before, but as is usually the case, memories dim over time. But, when in Rome, as they say, so yesterday we decided to take the kids snow hiking at Baltimore Woods, a little nature preserve not too far out of town. Everyone enjoyed themselves, especially the kids, but I learned several important lessons:

1. Taking a 2-year-old and a 4-year-old snow "hiking" is a bit of a misnomer, as we mostly crawled along at a snail's pace, stopping frequently to kick and throw snow, pull pine needles off trees, and identify "tracks" that were most likely caused by snow falling from the trees.
2. Taking a snow "stroll" is acceptable only if one is properly outfitted. Jonathan and Clara were properly outfitted; Jeremy and I were not. Jeremy and I had less fun on our stroll than Jonathan and Clara.
3. The truly short among us (Jonathan) have a hard time pushing through snow that comes up to their waists.

These lessons firmly grasped, I am now ready to let this hike dim a bit in my memory before donning my jeans and knit gloves and doing it again in a few weeks. One of these days Jeremy and I are going to accept we live in cold, snowy places. One of these days...

On the road again (again)

So I guess we live in Syracuse again. Two weeks ago, we loaded up everything we owned (again) into our intrepid Golf, and Jeremy left St. Paul for a brisk 1100-mile drive east. The next morning, the kids and I took three (3) flights to get from Minneapolis to Syracuse. Over the eight or so hours of our traveling we went from Minneapolis to Milwaukee to Detroit to Syracuse. That's a lot of hop, skipping, and jumping, if I do say so.



Before I move on, though, I need to pay a little more homage to the Golf, because between Jeremy and that car, miracles happen. I don't know if these pictures do it justice, but in this car are:

• two crib-size mattresses


• one queen size mattress (from Ikea, rolled up as tight as possible, which is not really that tight)


• a dismantled kitchen table and four chairs


• a kids' table and two chairs


• an Ikea armchair


• an ottoman


• a television


• an end table


• two laptop computers


• three desk lamps


• one floor lamp


• all of our clothes, toiletries, and linens


• a large bag of nonperishable food


• an obscene amount of toys and books.

I have no clue how Jeremy got it all into that car, and I watched him do it. If you are not amazed enough, please note that it was less than 10 degrees on the evening of packing. It really was a miserable experience, all said, but we all survived, and now we're resettled. Again. For a little while.

The kids' favorite part about the move was probably the 24 hours of frozen dinners we ate. Delightful! They also seemed pretty keen on sitting on these ridiculous thrones masquerading as car seats whilst watching endless episodes of Barney and Thomas. Ah, to be young...

Once we'd arrived in Syracuse and more or less unpacked everything, we realized that it's not ideal to live in a ground-floor apartment when the neighbors in the 2nd floor apartment--all of which are inexplicably floored with hardwood--have little kids running around all day. So we did what any community-minded people would do: we took our little kids and moved to a 2nd floor apartment. There's nothing like moving just a few days after moving, I've always said, but at least it was a fairly close jaunt. Luckily, our downstairs neighbor is a kind, long-suffering, single young man who works all day until about 6:30. This makes the weekdays just fine, though the kids are understandably tired of having to do their (quite loud) version of "tiptoeing" on the weekends. Apartment living. I am not too keen. Again.

And there you have it. It's good to be back in the 'Cuse, and the kids seem no worse off for being dragged around the country so much this year. Jonathan and Clara are even falling asleep in the same room with absolutely no problem. It's a borderline miracle after our time in St. Paul! Clara is almost always the first to fall asleep. We know Jonathan is not quite ready to rest when this very stealthily appears under his door:

At least they're cute little tootsies!

Mussels have muscles

We subscribe to Sunset magazines so we can know what we're missing by not being, you know, West Coast hipsters and whatnot. Thanks to Sunset, we have been able to keep up with important trends, like fanciful food trucks, gourmet versions of pedestrian foods like ice cream and grilled cheese, and how to live in a sterile home that produces no trash.

But I think the most important piece of advice we've ever gleaned from the magazine appeared in the January 2011 issue, which featured a list of 10 ways to eat healthier. We were particularly struck by the number one tip--and I'd like to reiterate that this was the number one suggestion: Buy mussels.

This has really revolutionized our healthy lifestyle. No longer is our health tied to what we eat; now, for the first time, we can be healthy just by buying something! I am truly inspired. And you can imagine my joy when frozen mussels, precooked in healthful garlic butter, were on sale 3 for the price of 1! at the grocery store today. I bought three packages, and I feel healthier already! Please, join the cause: choose health today, and BUY MORE MUSSELS!

**I would like to point out that they corrected the article on their website to read "Eat mussels." I am gravely disappointed.

And a happy new year!

We enjoyed a very merry Christmas this year! We missed being with out extended family and wonderful friends, but we loved the peace and quiet of a small family Christmas. The kids were delighted with the magic all around them, and they were thrilled with each little thing that happened.


Christmas Eve was a grand day, full of cookie baking, stocking stuffing, and general merriment. Jonathan was too excited for his nap, though as you can see he fell asleep on my lap for the first time since he was a tiny baby. Charming! We acted out the Nativity multiple times, as we do every year, and Clara continues to take her responsibilities as Mary very seriously. Jonathan is a little less solemn about being Joseph, which led to some definite sparks flying between our Mary and Joseph. The kids put their stockings out (I made this last month when I realized we hadn't brought our Christmas stockings, thinking we'd be in Utah for the holidays). Then after a reading of The Night Before Christmas, we nestled the children in their beds.


On Christmas morning, Jeremy and I woke up every 30 minutes or so starting at about 4:00 a.m., but the kids actually had a bit of a lie-in and didn't wake up until 7:00. A Christmas miracle! They were truly excited to go downstairs and see the gifts from Santa. And once we'd settled in around the tree, they were most definitely at their leisure. They played contentedly with each present for 20-30 minutes, and when Clara got two sets of undersea life bath toys from Jeremy's sister, they immediately stripped down for a leisurely bath. When we were finally done opening presents, nearly four hours had passed--and they didn't even have that many gifts! It was really a calm, fun morning.


We had a delicious Christmas dinner, and I'm glad I remembered to take pictures so we can always remember out "Tupperware Christmas"--the year we had no nice china or serving dishes and served everything out of pots and plastic containers. Here's the thing, though: it still tasted wonderful! I won't mind having my nice things back for next year, though. :)


All told, it was a magical weekend. How could it not be, when we got to take this to church with us on Sunday:


Merry Christmas!

Clara's Debut

A few weeks ago, Clara and I were asked to sing "He Sent His Son" at the ward Christmas party. Really, they just wanted her to sing it, so I stayed back from the microphone. I don't think she could hear the piano or me very well, but she just sang with vigor! We were really proud of her. As we were waiting to go up to sing, she was sitting on Jeremy's lap saying, "I don't have stage fright at all. I don't have stage fright." Then when she finished, she went back over to Jeremy and said, "I did it, Dad!" What a sweet girl.

Minneapolis Institute of Arts

Several weeks ago, I left my kids with a friend for a couple of hours and treated myself to two hours at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts. This museum is incredible. It’s immense, the collections are beautiful, and, astoundingly, it’s absolutely free. It’s not even fake free, like the zoo. No collection boxes, no guilt. You just walk in and enjoy. And I did. I hardly saw any of it, even in two hours. I saw nothing of the modern art wing, and really very little of any of the other collections. But I did spend about 20 minutes admiring this:



I knew they had this bust—“Veiled Lady,” sculpted in marble by Raffaelo Monti. It was truly amazing. I don’t know how such delicacy can emerge from stone. Some of the places were so thin that the light shone through. I loved it.

I wish I knew more about art in general. I took Humanities 101 at BYU, which would’ve (and probably did) given a nice overview, but there’s an inherent problem in that course. My section met at an unfortunate post-Morris-Center-lunch 1:00. It was held in an anonymous auditorium in the JKHB, full of soft chairs. The lights were always turned down low (the better to view art and listen to music), and the professor had a low, droning voice. All the pieces were in place for me to take a healthy afternoon nap three days a week. I probably wasn’t asleep as much as I remember, but I think it’s telling that when I was studying for the final exam, I fell asleep on my book. It’s the only book I sold back to the bookstore with my dried drool holding the center pages together.

It’s also possible that I remember so little about Humanities 101 since I took that class TWELVE years ago, if that number is even possible. Twelve. Regardless, I like going to art museums. Now when I get tired, I can just go home.

Our house is a very, very, very just fine house.

Now that we have less time remaining in St. Paul than we’ve already spent here, I thought I’d finally post some pictures of our apartment, so my mom can picture us in our home—at least for the next eight weeks or so.

The apartment is basically a split-level townhouse. You enter on the landing of the staircase, then you go down for the kitchen and living room and up for the bathroom and bedrooms. This is the first time the kids have had to share a room, and it’s a questionable practice at best. They did well for awhile, until Jonathan started to crawl out of his pack-n-play and then started to sleep on a little air mattress like Clara. Then most evenings were spent slamming doors and yelling, and the kids also caused a ruckus. Our “compromise” has been to have Jonathan take his nap on our bed and also to fall asleep in our bed at night. Now we have basically no conflict at night. The kids just fall asleep after reading, etc., then we move Jonathan to his bed before we go to sleep. Everyone wins. Except for maybe Jonathan, but he doesn’t seem to notice he has the shorter end of the stick.



The downstairs is basically L-shaped, with the kitchen, dining area, and living room flowing into one another (how’s that for the ever-coveted “open floorplan”!). As you can see, there’s lots of natural light from the abundant window, and the backdoor opens onto a soccer pitch and a nearby playground, which is, in a word, awesome. We’ve been really blessed with an extended pleasant fall, and I’m happy we’ve been able to spend so much time outside.



The kitchen might be the world’s smallest. It boasts about one square foot of usable counter space, which isn’t ideal, but whatever. It also has a quaint “fisher price” stove/oven, which—word to the wise—is not big enough to fit a Costco take-n-bake pizza. (Also, if you cut said pizza in half, you should be aware that it will ooze and drip copious amounts of cheese onto the bottom of the oven, which will then burn. Just saying.)



The bathroom is about what you would expect in 60 year old family housing, in that it is not super spacious, particularly for four people sharing a bathroom—even if two of those people are pint sized. I’m proud to report that only once in the last 10 weeks have I knocked Jeremy’s toothbrush into the toilet.



Our bedroom is just the right size for a queen size mattress on the floor and a small bookcase. I could stand to have a bit more space, but really it’s perfectly serviceable (I’ve never understood the need for an opulent master bedroom, since I primarily use a bedroom for sleeping, but to each his own). The kids’ bedroom is actually bigger than ours, but they spend more time playing and making messes there, so they might as well have the bigger room. Also, their room has this fab raised closet that they dubbed the “kids’ clubhouse.” It’s a good time.



After living in a basically amenity-less apartment for the last few months, I’ve decided that the only thing I really miss is a garbage disposal. The sooner I can stop fishing smooshy grains of rice out of the drain strainer, the better. I do miss having laundry in the house, although our laundry room is quite close, the weather has been fine, and there’s something to be said for having access to basically as many washers and dryers as I want. But the biggest thing I miss is not being able to control my own heater. We have radiators that basically run on each side of the apartment, all the way down our entire building. It was turned on, against our will, on October 1, when the outside temperatures were in the mid 70s. The maintenance staff claims to try to keep the heat at 70 to 72, which sounds fine in theory, but rarely does the temperature drop below 75. When I wrote this, for example, it was a pleasant 58 degrees outside and a whopping 77 degrees inside. Seventy-seven. Let’s just say I wear a lot of short sleeve shirts. Word.