You're not even gone yet and I miss you like crazy. I know it's a whole lot of added hormones with this pregnancy thing and all, so every single emotion I express explodes into a ticker tape parade as soon as I open my mouth and eyes to express it. So thanks for understanding that about me right now. And handling it all carefully, every single shift and spike and lull and sob.
I remember falling asleep with you in your bed (with all our clothes on!) in that house on Magdalena when we dated. I would sit up and look at you as you slept. Just watching your chest move up and down with breath and the peacefulness of your eyes gently closed as you drifted off into dreamland. I would push your hair back off your face over and over just to feel it in my hands. I remember just tracing the lines of your face with my fingertips wondering how on earth I could possibly love you any more than I did in that very moment. In that instance I could not imagine any more depth that could expand and grow within the confines of my heart. I couldn't fathom being mad at you or ever fighting or going more than a day without seeing you.
So all this time has gone on and all these experiences rolled into numbers of years that don't make a lot of sense when I say them out loud. How is it possible that it will be a decade of 'us' at the end of May since that night I watched you sleep so long ago? And how grand it is, this variety of feelings that have combined to bring us here today so far away from then. And how love feels different the longer you're in it. And how much defining it changes the more you know a person, create other persons with this person, and then have to miss this person on a regular basis.
And although we have learned to refine the way we cope in your travels and understand better how to communicate with one another the ways we need it, I am glad for the hurt and ache I feel when you are absent. Knowing and expressing the void I feel when you are gone has made me realize how much more important we have become to one another and non-replaceable right now more than ever.
And while my favorite part of many of my days are watching you make our children laugh, my most favorite moment this month was looking into your loving eyes after my tears left mascara on your perfect lips before we kissed goodbye.
I wish I could open my chest and write I love you with the bleeding tears I feel on the inside when you are away. Just so you could comprehend the love I have for you and how intensely powerful it feels right now. I wish I knew it in a language that would reflect the appropriate level of expression I want to convey.
Somehow I miss you doesn't really cover it.
So.....thanks for being around and asking me out that first time. I am glad I get to be the one to love you. And make babies with you.


goodness gracious

I remember thinking food cravings in pregnancy were so lame when I heard about them prior to my own pregnancies. It just sounded to me like people were finding excuses to dig into too much food with some added dramatics. Let me tell you people, pregnancy cravings are for real. They are not to be reasoned with. They are not to be denied. They are some of the fabulous little pleasures that come with this experience. Once obtained, they are insanely delightlful. Much like sex.

Growing this little girl has been an entirely different experience with food altogether compared to the growing of my two boys. The early months involved much aversion and little appetite. Once my appetite kicked into gear fresh veggies and dairy have been all the rage. Paradise Bakery's Vegetarian Sandwich will always be on a golden pedestal in my heart for the satisfaction it has delivered these past several months. I can't eat it fast enough and the crunching of the fresh veggies between my teeth must be what a lion feels when ripping into bloody flesh. Pure goodness and enjoyment beyond words.
And then there was cherry pie. I won't lie, it was so good every time I ate it my eyes would glaze over and then roll back in my head. Ditto on cherry yogurt. Baby Swiss cheese, a necessary and vital part of my life right now. Like oxygen. Perfectly ripe roma tomatoes? They are orgasmic. They are so good to me that I dream of rolling around in a bathtub filled with slices of ripe romas. I have to call Mike on the phone to talk to him about it when I eat them because I start to feel like I am cheating on him.

The most curious of all to me happened this week. Walking through Wal-Mart I passed the Little Debbie aisle. I was glad I didn't have any desire..wait..... a...... MINUTE! Put on the shopping cart breaks. OATMEAL CREME PIES?!! Must. Have. Them. Now. The idea of biting into that soft, mushy cookie was more than I could handle. It was all I could do to not chew through the box and devour all 12 of those delights in the middle of the aisle. I was merely 2 steps away from the check-out. I had to self-talk myself all the way there, petting this precious box all the way. Whispering to it sweet nothings. We'll be together soon enough, my love.

The funny thing is how normal it seems in my pregnancy head to have this intense passion for something specific. It's also funny that I have never in my life eaten an oatmeal creme pie. In fact, I don't think you could have PAID me enough money to eat one prior to this week. I didn't even know what they tasted like. I won't even tell you how delicious it was to sit in my car and tear into that box. You might mistake such writing for romance novels if I divulge too much detail.


free on craig's

Just in case you thought you might be missing out on something in the FREE section of Criag's List, I am taking time to check. And let me reassure you, it's a pile of crap. Literally. You can get yourself all the manure you would like for free (see image above).

Hrm. What would any of us do with used tires? Real Simple might want them to make their shoes. Can't think of much else.....

A tree. This tree. Really. BUT you have to dig it out of the ground yourself while I sip ice cold lemonade in my blue chair.

Bucket seats. But we are going to run over them a few more times and put out a few more dozen cigarette butts before you pick them up. Maybe even press a hot iron into the seat a few times to make some nice burn decorative patterns on it.

Drywall. Broken drywall. Because so many people are in need of broken drywall these days. I like to imagine the guy standing there, pacing actually, trying to figure out how to get rid of all the drywall he broke before his boss finds out. Um.....dang......oh I got it Craig's List!
Crutches. What do you do with them when you are done?! Certainly someone else will need them. And maybe it's not urgent enough of a need that you can browse Craig's List for a few days hoping some will become available. Makes sense. Can't really say anything clever about this one. I just really liked how they put them behind these chairs in the picture. I like the thought that he or she sat in that chair waiting for the day he or she could get up and leave the crutches against the wall and walk on their own.
Honeycomb. And I quote directly from the ad "THIS IS NOT ... NOT ... NOT EDIBLE PEOPLE ... IT IS SATURATED WITH BEE KILLER ... YOU MAY NOT BUY THE HONEY ... YOU CAN NOT EAT THE HONEY ... !!!! "
Also, some bees are still alive and remain in the hive. Awesome- I'm coming to get it right now. But can I eat the honey?

A Box. What was this box used for exactly? Was this where the kids had time-out while they were bad? While dad cut them a switch in the back yard and they peeped through the holes and watched in fear? Something about this box screams Silence of the Lambs to me.

And dirt. Just in case you need some, here is some free dirt. So bring your shovel. And leave the tube and fancy fence behind.


the scent of a woman

See these? They look kinda good, right? Innocently good. Like a grab-one-on-the-run for a little breakfast kind of good. Or maybe even two! Two for breakfast and it will really fill you up kind of good.
And bonus! If your intestines are all squished up inside cos there is a little human taking over the space where they used to freely allow digested food to pass through, it might even be a perk to ingest some additional fiber. Keep those twisted up pipes clear as it may help move thing along more freely. So perhaps you don't cry in pain or pass out when you finally have that weekly purging of conglomerate rocks exiting your body.
Only, they really should have a warning on the box. That tells you about the aftermath of eating these things. Something about not eating them if you actually come into contact with other human beings. Because the gas that emanates from your body after eating these the following (roughly) 48 hours is unbelievably catastrophic. So bad it made my husband say swear words. And he doesn't even really know how to swear. I had to look behind me to make sure green clouds weren't floating out from the bottom of my shorts. And then I checked under the bed to make sure we didn't have a family of skunks living under there.

So go ahead, eat them. Buy them. But only if you live alone, have some time off work, and have no friends to pass time with. Otherwise, they might just swear at you. And you will totally deserve it. Because the smell that comes from your butt after you eat these is beyond anything a human should ever excrete. It's not even animal-like. It's just plain wretched.



This week during my drive to the doctor I thought about the tiny person growing inside of my belly. Each time I make this drive, I have this incredibly private conversation with God in my head. It's like I am looking right into His eyes and letting Him know in that moment I am really trying to understand. How there is little that is up to me on this earth. There is so much more in His control than many of us are willing to be aware of and accept as often as we should. The drive to the doctor's is always an instant dose of a reminder that I frequently forget this fact.

Things could be very wrong. The heart beat could be mute. The experience of feeling her movement could end prematurely at any time. And there is nothing I can do about it. For the most part. I mean, she could also be this incredibly healthy little child that goes full term and that would also have little to do with me. And that's a hard thing to accept. At any moment in time during a pregnancy. Or life in general.

I am not given the exclusive right to anything by simply existing. I am not perfectly appreciative or deserving of specific blessings or wishes. But a lot of the time, I still get them.

And if I don't. I have to be ready to open my mind as to what I am supposed to learn from it. And accept it. With faith and understanding.


So we each have this time available every day and some of us have money, although many do not. And we choose what to do with this time/ money every single day. I have been thinking about that a lot lately. And feeling so small in a huge country/ world filled with growing and urgent needs all around. Needs that require more than thought. Needs that require action, but never beyond the scope of capability we have as a collective society available to move mountains. If we want to.

All these thoughts made a lot more sense to me tonight when I read about this. I love this man. What a divine example he is. I am proud to read of him and know about his service and life. He makes me want to be a better person.


just this


For some reason with this brand of diaper, your left butt cheek refuses to be contained. I happen to think it's rather hilarious. Er, um, I mean... adorable.




finally there is clarity

Hey Liz, what are all these strange goopy marks on your clothing? Did you get a pet snail? Or 100?

Oh. Um. No, it's my toddler. >>>>>>>

He likes to run across the room and throw his face at my body. Every 2 minutes. And kiss my clothing with his slimy nose. So by the end of the day it looks like I was in a paint gun fight. Only instead of paint the balls were actually loaded with yellow and green jelly.
In other news, This One has the best bed head in the world. Ever. We're talkin 80s rock star. All the way.


craig and his friggin list

I always forget how entertaining Craig's List can be.
If you don't know what Craig's List is, it's basically like a local version of eBay, only instead of bidding or dealing with snail mail you email the person and arrange a time to view their product, pay them with cash and haul their crap away. Hoping it doesn't fall apart on you.
In all honesty, everyone I know (including me) has had positive experiences buying things from Craig's List. Items such as a drum set, a car, a boat, a house, household furniture, etc. has been successfully purchased with pleasant results. It can be a real treasuer trove. I would buy this kitchen set in an instant. It makes me feel like I should have Amish friends. It also makes me want to make a wooden bench with my own hands or something productively earthy.
The FREE section is always interesting. Last week someone had milk that was going to expire. So they did what all people do, right? Opened it up to the public to come get some free gallons of milk her family wasn't going to ingest by the due date. Would someone really go out of their way and trust free milk from a stranger?
I like to see how people choose to display their product.Tables, for example, make sense to be placed in the middle of a kitchen. This looks like a happy home below. Someone really loved this table and took good care of it.Perhaps a wise owner might even clean the table or remove piles of paper and stuff from the surface. You know, just in case you want to give the customer the impression the item they are looking for is coming from a clean, organized home. That maybe you cared a little tiny bit about selling your table before you took the picture. I know it's hard to think about a way to make one's trash another's treasure, but it can be done! And you would be surprised how rare it is that people take time to think about the picture they take and post in hopes of selling their junk.
There are always a dozen ads with the shots taken out front. Good lighting, perhaps they tried to have a garage sale? It just makes sense and looks decent.Or! They dress it up a bit, like this family put together a nice little table setting that almost fit the table. They get a gold star for effort.
I like how you can find the most bizarre things. Like this table made from a Saguaro CACTUS.

I like to imagine the person selling the item, it's always a mystery, but occasionally you catch a little glimpse of their personal taste in the background of the shot. Perhaps a snappy t.v. hanging on the wall. Or a stained carpet with and AC/DC poster taped to the wall and empty beer bottles lined up on the counter. Or art deco busting out of every corner. The award for least desirable goods has to go to the people who take a photo of the item as it rots in the corner of their dirty garage. Next to broken bicycles and spare tires and a jacked up dresser with a missing drawer. Yeah, that screams this family knows how to take care of their things, I totally want to buy their stuff.
Today just checking out kitchen tables today to make sure I wasn't missing the deal of the century. And I was so happy to run into this one. The table could totally suck, but I almost want to buy it because it's completely awesome how this guy just jumps into the shot! I love this guy! He's totally like "Hey, look how happy my table makes me- you will have so much fun eating at this table. You know you want to buy it. But if you don't, it's okay cos I'm just this silly happy guy. Have a great day!"

This photo made me want to find stuff in my house to sell just so I could pose in a happy photo with it.



At the Bally's in California there was a poster on the wall of a very fit, healthy looking woman in work out clothing. The picture of her was flattering, she was doing a kick towards the lens of the camera and her balance and positioning of the rest of her body looked strong. Like the way my sensei would stand when demonstrating kicks in my college Ju Jitsu class. In the photo-turned-poster she wore a pair of shorts that were of the variety most of us would not look so great in. I was struck by how much motivation I gathered as I looked at this poster during my time at the gym. And while genetics play a great deal in the way our bodies are shaped, it is still my job to be healthy and exercise regardless of the genes I have and how closely I am able to (or not able to) realistically resemble the person in that picture. She was not my goal, looking like her was not my dream. But feeling the way I know I feel when I am at my optimal exercise routine, filling my physical potential with wellness, that was the feeling the poster translated to me.
Some might have found it offensive. The shorts were short, her shoulders were barren, and much of her long, fit legs were revealed. At times I worry I might be the wrong kind of Mormon mother to not instantly compute vulgarity from the image. But I don't really worry much about that for very long, which causes me another round of worry. And then I go to the gym and decide to forget all about it and carry on with something productive.
So this video for the song Lie by Black Light Burns came on today at the gym in Arizona. And again, a woman appears (two actually) in clothing less than modest. And my instant and honest reaction was how awesome their cute little undies are in this video. And how cute a healthy and fit little bum bum looks in something like that. And wouldn't an outfit like that be a nice way to welcome My Mister home after a long week apart as the children slumber in their beds? Is something wrong with me? Is it normal to draw inspiration and motivation from images most other Mormon women might consider offensive? These are rhetorical questions, btw.
Don't get me wrong, I don't wish to fill my boys' heads (or future girl) with the perfect image of what the world thinks the perfect shape of a woman should be. I would not display these images in my home as a signal of priority over the obvious priorities we strive for as a family. But I do think it is important to take good care of one's body and to be a prime example to my children as much as possible. I have work to do in this area at my dinner table with the food I provide them. In addition to a regular exercise routine. I also love to see moms at the park running around with their kids playing football with them in the grass (those that no longer have toddlers still in need of constant watch). I want to be that mom, the one that is out there running and playing with them.
And hey the times I have been happiest with my fitness level had little to do with outward image I got as a result and entirely more to do with inward energy and thorough joy. Which leads to even better bedroom 'aerobics', overall better mental health and abundant patience available to my family. Getting a tiny, frilly pair of undies to wear behind closed doors for Mike with some hopeful tight buns peeking from the bottom of them is just a perk in the deal that might add some additional motivation to the already-important- for-a-million-reasons topic. That's all I'm sayin. Enjoy the video linked above. It's not for the easily offended at heart. And p.s. I mostly thought of Mike because of the cheeks I aspire for in addition to the sound of this band I thought he would really like. They remind him of Stabbing Westward.
(sounds like: The Cure, Queens of the Stoneage, Nitzer Ebb, PJ Harvey, NIN, Ministry, Bauhaus, Fiona Apple, Limp Bizkit, From First To Last, Skinny Puppy, The Strokes, Interpol, Massive Attack, Peter Murphy, Portishead, Tool, Aphex Twin, The Police, Radiohead, Concrete Blonde, Duran Duran, etc.)



Just some favorite duds. For someone who hates to shop and tries to spend as little as possible on clothing.

To sleep in or go to the gym in these work perfect from Old Navy:
Dress from Motherhood (ignore the shoes) :
Jeans from Motherhood:
Skirt from Motherhood (ignore ugly shoes in the photo):


a) Motherhood
b) Shades: the trick for me was getting a regular style in size Large (not maternity, it was too much material- felt like it went down to my knees)

c) Old Navy:
Shorts: The Gap. These rock and are worth the price because they have figured out we don't need 12 yards of extra fabric to hang below the groin. The material stretches and the elastic waistband is very forgiving. I might suggest a size up from your normal number just for some extra room, that plan worked well for me.


speaking of cowboy boots

So while I was in the shower this morning I heard Zane rummaging through my closet. He called out into the air "Mom, are these your cowboy boots?'

I consider it odd my son should even ask as he knows those are his father's, but send my voice out over the shower door without even a peek 'no, those are your father's' and snicker to myself how impossible it would be for me to have cowboy boots. It's just not my thing and probably never will be for reasons mentioned in my prior post.

He's gone as I exit the shower and dress for the day. I enter the kitchen and find this:

It's always hilarious to me when my boys wear my shoes. The fact that he assumed all boots are cowboy boots was pretty good. But the best part is he thinks that they are his father's shoes based on our bathroom conversation. And he didn't even question it.


good morning! let's talk about my groin!

It' s fun to think of new ways to describe (what they tell me must be) round ligament pain at the end of a pregnancy. Last time I likened it to being kicked with a cowboy boot repeatedly. All. Day. Long. But don't forget, this boot has a steel tip, and a spike at the toe. Imagine the kicks to be gentle in the morning, relatively soft. Then, but the afternoon they become quicker in succession and more fierce with each strike. Before dinner time I can just imagine that special area where all the weight seems to lay being bruised black and blue, it's so tenderly aching with pain.

I go to bed restless looking for the best way to straddle a pillow sideways (in a very non sexual manner. unfortnuately.) to soften the aches. This routine takes about 30- 45 minutes to accomplish successfully. All the while I hope to get to start fresh tomorrow with the soft kicking and work up to that level of pain without waking up with the bruised feeling. And normally that's how it goes each day, depending on the amount of time I spend on my feet. The beauty of this being my third time is that I can appreciate that for a while, it's not nearly as bad as it's going to get in a number of weeks. With that in perspective, it's totally manageable.
Another way to describe this experience is to imagine a little person following me around all day with a little hammer and a chisel. Again, the pounding is minimal in the early hours and almost unnoticeable as I begin my day. But dammit if that little person isn't breaking the bone in half before the sun starts to go down. I really have to check sometimes to make sure I am not splitting apart at my groin area because each step I take starts to feel like I am cracking in half with that chisel breaking into the bone. And that whole walking like a cowboy that spent a month in the desert on a horse, that side-to-side awkward hobble. It's just so I don't disrupt that person with the hammer. And it might possibly be that it slightly minimizes the impact that feels as though steel nails are being driven into the ligaments that attach my legs to my groin upon the strike of each step. And it ends when I climb into bed, the hammering, although the pulsing pain lingers until I drift away. It helps to imagine that moment when I get to look at her and talk to her precious little baby face. And I will totally be all "Dude! Did hear all that hammering! Wasn't that insane!"
*p.s. Those are cowboy boots Mike inherited from his uncle. It's a sore spot in our marriage. He isn't allowed to wear them when I am with him. You could say I have a thing against western wear fashion. Or perhaps it's all the imagined kicking in the groin by a boot that ruined it for me.


interviewing zane about his mom

My friend Anna just posted this interview with her four kids. It's adorable to see how each of her children at various ages answered the questions, it was fun to see how their perceptions were similar and different. I was eager to interview Zane (age 4). I encourage you to do the same!

1. What is something your mom always says to you?
I love you
2. What makes your mom happy?
zane playing with mom

3. What makes your mom sad?
zane playing too rough with Evan

4. How does your mom make you laugh?
tickling me and making him a zerber
5. What was your mom like as a child?
ice cream

6. How old is your mom?
Um. 6

7. How tall is your mom?
10 size (counted from my toes to the top of my head with his pointer finger)

8. What is her favorite thing to do?
Play with Max and Zane and Cache and Evan

9. What does your mom do when you're not around?
Look for me

10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?
Old McDonald’s (the cheeseburger place)

11. What is your mom really good at?
Practicing her balance

12. What is your mom not very good at?
Being nice ("Zane, I'm not nice?" "yes you are very nice, but sometimes you’re not")

13. What does your mom do for a job?

14. What is your mom's favorite food?

15. What makes you proud of your mom?
Doing cartwheels and handstands

16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?
Maggie and Ferocious Beast (mommy would be the beast, not Maggie)

17. What do you and your mom do together?
Um. Play kids house

18. How are you and your mom the same?
We play house

19. How are you and your mom different?
Being a grown up and being a kid

20. How do you know your mom loves you?
Kissing me and hugging me

21. What does your mom like most about your dad?
Playing together

22. Where is your mom's favorite place to go?
The cheeseburger place


it's always good to have a plan

Dear Little Girl Growing in My Tummy,
Please forgive the manner with which I refer to you, as we have yet to decide upon your name.
I have been thinking lately about how different it will be to teach you the ways of life as a female in this world. Things are going to get really complicated and akward as a pre-teen and you will feel incredibly alone and ugly and confused for a little while. And you will think no one else on the face of this earth is going through puberty, only you. That feeling's pretty much normal. And then you will start to really like boys and want to kiss them and they will want to kiss you. Because, let's face it, your father and I never got a beating from the ugly stick so chances are you are going to be quite a looker.
For this purpose, I plan to lock you inside the house your whole life. And if a boy wants to speak with you he will have to come to the front door, look up, and hope for you to appear briefly through the window in the tower so he can steal a glance at your beautiful smile.
love you,
mom (and dad, as I am certain he will agree with this plan)


what if

If one of my kids really loved this book, I think it would be cool to design their room as much like The Great Green Room as possible. Only I would make the fire in the fireplace fake. And it would be really hard to figure out how to make the drapes exactly like so.


floating thoughts

Since learning to play the drums oh-not-so-long-ago it's been interesting to listen to music differently. Especially considering the number of years I have clocked into that past time. Prior to my first lesson, part of my homework was to create a CD filled with songs I want to learn- even if they seemed complicated. I was asked what kind of drummer I want to be.

This process was not as easy as it sounded. I immediately pulled the current rotation within the 6 disc changer from the car. And found that the drum parts were incredibly boring to me in many of my favorite songs. I had Weezer in the mix I created, a total bore behind the drum kit. Songs I loved to listen to were no fun to play and many I started to learn and decode caused me to lose interest in practicing. I still battle with defining what kind of drummer I want to be, as in drumming style and the kind of songs I enjoy playing.

I was also told I should find a drumming hero, someone to look up to and admire and sink my creative teeth into while learning. Both items I have put on hold while my mind spins with numerous potential options only to find my inability to commit to one choice for hero or style preference.

The most interesting change in my process of learning a new instrument was the experience of attending a live musical performance. A concert. Or 'show' as we called them back in the day. I have not attended many in the past few years, however, each time I am struck by how isolated the drums are to my ears. How I have trained my ears to block out the rest of the sounds somehow and my adrenaline and desire to play my own kit grows to an almost unresistable urge. I have to restrain myself from running onto the stage and pulling the drummer off his throne and taking over. Not because I am better or even know how to play their gig, but because I am reminded of how much I enjoy it above and beyond anything else I had known about the pleasure of music.

Once I overcome the desire to hijack the performing drummer, I then imagine myself in a little box behind him (or her) watching every drum stroke and studying the way they make different sounds with those two sticks. It might be a disruption to the audience, seeing some crazy girl sitting in a box trying to hide behind the band, but it would be okay because I would bring my invisibility cloak so no one would see me, afterall.

My favorite part is hearing a song I know well change slightly in the drum parts live. I heard a band once live where I recognized the exact spot in the song where the drummer messed up one single beat and while it was happening I knew would become trashed. Instantly, the other band members lost track and the song became a wreck. It was like I had a cheat sheet, which was something that after years of listening to live music, it never occured to me how simple it would be for one little beat to throw off the rest of the band nor recognize how it went wrong.


Mars and Venus

I loved playing the game Pictionary as a kid. You get a card with a word on it and then you have to draw a picture-without giving any verbal clues- and the other person tries to guess what it is. It's a fun game, but I had to learn how to play it. Which took practice. The first few times I would draw something and it seemed so obvious to me that the other person should CLEARLY understand what the word was on the card that I was drawing. A circle with dots in it, for instance, is a cookie. Not a pancake, not the moon, not a coaster. No matter how many times I would retrace that circle or put more dots in that cookie, it was not getting translated to the other person the way I imagined it would.
So I would feel frustrated. I'm not the only one. That's the best part about playing the game in groups- there are more of us out there and we are entertaining to play Pictionary with because we take it too seriously. We stand back and let them figure out it's a cookie while we huff and puff waiting for the other person's picture-interpretation-intellect to catch up because there can't possible be a better way to display the image of a cookie.
But there are the more seasoned players that know that this is part of the game. They know getting mad and waiting without further effort isn't very fun for all the players and it certainly isn't helping the guessers out at all. They are the players that realize quickly that the circle and dots idea needs to be crossed off and they quickly turn to a new approach. They begin to draw Cookie Monster. Or perhaps a cookie jar with cookies in it. Or an oven with cookies baking inside of it. They get more guesses on their team and turn over more successful cards this way. This is the way I had to learn how to play.


I remember when I was engaged to me married, more experienced couples would tell me 'marriage is all about communication'. That used to bug me. What does that even mean?! What were they talking about? I would smile and nod, pretend I knew exactly what they were referring to while glancing lovingly at my sparkling ring.
As we journied through our years of marriage that comment about communication would echo in my mind. It would still not make sense to me what those people were referring to. Not until many years into the experience. And I think my description of playing Pictionary is the best way I can explain my understanding of how communication is important in marriage, according to my personal experiences and our personality combination.
Two people come together from different backgrounds and life experiences and understandings and packages of personality traits. We interpret things differently some of the time, as we are supposed to. We have different kinds of feelings and reactions to one another over the days and weeks and months and years. Explaining them, at times, to a person who isn't myself is a lot harder than I imagined in my head it would be. And understanding his when I am me is a lot harder to do than I imagined. So the more seasoned we get with this communication thing, the more we realize a little sooner in the conversation I am talking about a cookie and he thinks I am talking about the moon. Hearing that is an important part of the process of communication. When the team is shouting moon!!! it's a moon!!! during Pictionary means you have to listen and acknowledge their interpretation of what message you are delivering is off track. So you start again, without frustration, to pencil in Cookie Monster instead- or another variation of whatever message you are trying to send.
So from now on when someone gets married I should gift them a Pictionary game and write in the card: "marriage: it's all about communication".