I missed you while you have been gone.
You are back in town and you are talking. I am watching your mouth move, there are words coming out, but I can't hear what you are saying. Those words float all around the air, but all I can focus on is your perfect lips. And how I love to kiss them. You are there and I am here longing for our bodies to press together. I feel myself leaning towards you like we are magnetic. You are impossible to resist.
Physical and emotional attraction is so chemical and stirring.
Showing posts with label wow- i really love this guy a lot. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wow- i really love this guy a lot. Show all posts
8.20.2010
4.22.2008
8.22.2007
potassium salt of tartaric acid
Still here, even after a little false alarm that provided an opportunity for us to do a full-on dress rehearsal that landed us back at home. With that, I will share a little memory that made me laugh to/at myself this week.
----
It's no secret I am not so talented in the kitchen. He knew this going into the courting experience as I attempted several botched meals he choked down with a smile or even helped me salvage to an edible state. We are okay with my lack of cooking skills, it has given us much opportunity in our marriage to laugh.
Early in our marriage I once was attempting to try a new recipe from a cookbook, something I had not tried to do before. It called for several ingredients I did not have, some I had never used before. I wrote these ingredients on my grocery list in addition to the rest of our regular needs. I felt excited for the planning and prep I normally didn't spend time doing before shopping, I felt like a successfully organized wife!
Upon my return Mike perused the bags and commented eagerly on this snack and that, little suprises he would be excited to eat throughout the week. As I put things away he got REALLY excited about me getting shrimp. With our food budget at the time, that would have certainly been a big luxury. Confused, I asked what he was talking about. I had not put shrimp in the cart, nor did I bag it or place it into the car. I saw he was holding up the jar of Tartar Sauce I did buy and assumed I got shrimp for it.
I replied, "No, it's this new recipe I am trying out this week. It calls for Cream of Tartar but the closest thing I could find was tartar sauce. Same thing, right?"
----
It's no secret I am not so talented in the kitchen. He knew this going into the courting experience as I attempted several botched meals he choked down with a smile or even helped me salvage to an edible state. We are okay with my lack of cooking skills, it has given us much opportunity in our marriage to laugh.
Early in our marriage I once was attempting to try a new recipe from a cookbook, something I had not tried to do before. It called for several ingredients I did not have, some I had never used before. I wrote these ingredients on my grocery list in addition to the rest of our regular needs. I felt excited for the planning and prep I normally didn't spend time doing before shopping, I felt like a successfully organized wife!
Upon my return Mike perused the bags and commented eagerly on this snack and that, little suprises he would be excited to eat throughout the week. As I put things away he got REALLY excited about me getting shrimp. With our food budget at the time, that would have certainly been a big luxury. Confused, I asked what he was talking about. I had not put shrimp in the cart, nor did I bag it or place it into the car. I saw he was holding up the jar of Tartar Sauce I did buy and assumed I got shrimp for it.
I replied, "No, it's this new recipe I am trying out this week. It calls for Cream of Tartar but the closest thing I could find was tartar sauce. Same thing, right?"
7.23.2007
storehouse story
Sometimes I feel somewhat spiritually numb and show up to church on Sundays with a bad attitude. I am sure it has nothing to do with me being the slug in the family, causing us to arrive very late week after week.
Some weeks I am not feelin' it, the topics people speak about bore me or seem cliché. I don't feel like being social. I just want to be in my bed sleeping. Or watching MTV. Or eating. I am a loser that way sometimes.
So I remind myself my religion is more than being in a building every week and soaking up spiritual goodness, which actually does happen some weeks. That part of it for me, church on Sundays, is only a tiny sliver in a grand haystack.
It got me thinking to times in my life when I was moved without expecting it. The times I might have been asked or called to do something I would have never volunteered for and perhaps went forth with trepidation. The times I put my charity hat on and ended up with an experience that touched me spiritually in ways not always felt inside of a church building.
++
One thought brought me back to when I lived in Brooklyn several years ago. Very few people have cars there because the subway is easier. And, well, if you saw what our car looked like once we left and the colorful language awesome people scratched onto it, you would understand it better. We were one of few families at church with a car. My calling with the Relief Society coupled with the convenience of having a car led to a request for me to assist with delivering food from the bishop's storehouse to those who needed it.
It would be a lie to not admit I did not want to get up early each Saturday, untruthful to say that I did not grumble about it. I would be remiss to not offer that some neighborhoods I would not feel comfortable entering in broad daylight.
But it started to change me after the first time I went. I arrived to a really small storehouse that contained a few refrigerators, several cabinets, and one single man coordinating a lot of food inventory and a lot of orders for several wards and branches. He was an older man, a little slow moving, but direct and efficient. It humbled me to watch him in action. I wanted to be like him.
Each week Mike went with me, I never had to ask. His example of duty was a strength he never realized provided me more backbone than I had before. He navigated our car packed with food and took the heavier boxes up flights of stairs as I trailed behind with the plastic bags that contained lighter items. The feelings we had together in that car, making those trips and bringing people food for their families, were some of the times I felt closer to God in all my life. I never felt like I was giving enough. I always walked away wishing I had cleaned out my own cupboards for them and gathered personal belongings I regularly used so I could sacrifice something beyond just my personal time. I would get back into my car at the end of the afternoon with a soberness of gratitude and a little embarrassment for all that I had- for how good I had it and I didn't even know. From my shoes to my health, from my teeth to my food.
We later got moved into another ward due to boundary changes and the first Sunday there was an announcement over the pulpit that a man had passed away, leaving a widow behind. I don't recall the medical condition that was described, but I recognized the name. It was the man in the storehouse, he was gone. Each Sunday I looked at his widow and saw rays of light beaming from her. I just wanted to tell her what an amazing person I knew her husband was, despite the little interaction I had with him. I wanted to tell her how our Heavenly Father must be so proud of him and his service. How he made me want to be a better person.
So on Sundays when I am not feeling it, I remember solid times that whispered in my ear what life's like when I try be more like Christ. How I sometimes learn how to in that brick building, being near people who are also trying. How I learn from others' Brooklyn Storehouse Stories. How callings or needs for charity change me when I participate, albeit at times with a sour heart initially. How I also find it in the world around me outside of the building and in the fiber of who I want to be.
Some weeks I am not feelin' it, the topics people speak about bore me or seem cliché. I don't feel like being social. I just want to be in my bed sleeping. Or watching MTV. Or eating. I am a loser that way sometimes.
So I remind myself my religion is more than being in a building every week and soaking up spiritual goodness, which actually does happen some weeks. That part of it for me, church on Sundays, is only a tiny sliver in a grand haystack.
It got me thinking to times in my life when I was moved without expecting it. The times I might have been asked or called to do something I would have never volunteered for and perhaps went forth with trepidation. The times I put my charity hat on and ended up with an experience that touched me spiritually in ways not always felt inside of a church building.
++
One thought brought me back to when I lived in Brooklyn several years ago. Very few people have cars there because the subway is easier. And, well, if you saw what our car looked like once we left and the colorful language awesome people scratched onto it, you would understand it better. We were one of few families at church with a car. My calling with the Relief Society coupled with the convenience of having a car led to a request for me to assist with delivering food from the bishop's storehouse to those who needed it.
It would be a lie to not admit I did not want to get up early each Saturday, untruthful to say that I did not grumble about it. I would be remiss to not offer that some neighborhoods I would not feel comfortable entering in broad daylight.
But it started to change me after the first time I went. I arrived to a really small storehouse that contained a few refrigerators, several cabinets, and one single man coordinating a lot of food inventory and a lot of orders for several wards and branches. He was an older man, a little slow moving, but direct and efficient. It humbled me to watch him in action. I wanted to be like him.
Each week Mike went with me, I never had to ask. His example of duty was a strength he never realized provided me more backbone than I had before. He navigated our car packed with food and took the heavier boxes up flights of stairs as I trailed behind with the plastic bags that contained lighter items. The feelings we had together in that car, making those trips and bringing people food for their families, were some of the times I felt closer to God in all my life. I never felt like I was giving enough. I always walked away wishing I had cleaned out my own cupboards for them and gathered personal belongings I regularly used so I could sacrifice something beyond just my personal time. I would get back into my car at the end of the afternoon with a soberness of gratitude and a little embarrassment for all that I had- for how good I had it and I didn't even know. From my shoes to my health, from my teeth to my food.
We later got moved into another ward due to boundary changes and the first Sunday there was an announcement over the pulpit that a man had passed away, leaving a widow behind. I don't recall the medical condition that was described, but I recognized the name. It was the man in the storehouse, he was gone. Each Sunday I looked at his widow and saw rays of light beaming from her. I just wanted to tell her what an amazing person I knew her husband was, despite the little interaction I had with him. I wanted to tell her how our Heavenly Father must be so proud of him and his service. How he made me want to be a better person.
So on Sundays when I am not feeling it, I remember solid times that whispered in my ear what life's like when I try be more like Christ. How I sometimes learn how to in that brick building, being near people who are also trying. How I learn from others' Brooklyn Storehouse Stories. How callings or needs for charity change me when I participate, albeit at times with a sour heart initially. How I also find it in the world around me outside of the building and in the fiber of who I want to be.
7.19.2007
what i love
Is that I have a husband who knows I am not a girl to swoon over a fancy purse, shiny jewelry, or exotic trips to Tahiti. Not that those things aren't awesome at times, but it's more simple things that I need on a regular basis that sweep me off my feet.
I blush at the surprise kiss gently applied to my neck when I least expect it.
I smirk from a love pinch while I cook dinner.
I grin with the naughty emails he initiates.
I enjoy hearing about the times he thinks about me on his drive home or during a meeting.
This girl, stealing a line from The Stone Roses, can explain easily what she and most girls probably want:
I WANNA BE ADORED.
I blush at the surprise kiss gently applied to my neck when I least expect it.
I smirk from a love pinch while I cook dinner.
I grin with the naughty emails he initiates.
I enjoy hearing about the times he thinks about me on his drive home or during a meeting.
This girl, stealing a line from The Stone Roses, can explain easily what she and most girls probably want:
I WANNA BE ADORED.
5.29.2007
8 mile
2002 (earliest digital photo I could find)What's the best way to celebrate an 8 year anniversary?! I will tell you how- start at social security and finally change your name like you planned to do all these years. I have legally taken his name. And I swear it had nothing to do with waiting out that 7 year itch!
Here's to 80 more + eternity.
5.01.2007
tin foil
I want to puke when people write on and on about how cute their spouse is and all the great and wonderful bla bla bla puke vomit bla boring bla. Yesterday I was one of those people and today, again, he is my topic of thought. So go ahead, start the dry heave.
In my family growing up we didn't really use tin foil, we were a saran wrap family. It's easier to see the leftovers that would eventually grow fur and get tossed, completely logical.
Mike's family, apparently, was different.
I worked the late shift at the call center while we were dating. One evening he told me to come over after work and he would have a picnic ready for us to enjoy at the nearby park. I imagined he was going to pick up subs or KFC (this is before celiac diagnosis). Turns out he cooked a hot meal all by himself. I arrived at his home just as he was arranging the food on the plates, complete with stuffed mushrooms on the side. Then out came the tin foil. He ripped off about 30 feet and began wrapping and wrapping and wrapping those plates as if we were going on a rocket ship. Cos tin foil totally belongs on a rocket ship.
After we got married, he must have done some of the grocery shopping as somehow we had tin foil. I was still working the late shift and got home after 9pm. My favorite nights were the ones when I opened the front door and saw him watching t.v. on the couch. Following his suggestion to check the oven, I cracked it open to find my cozy plate of food tucked nicely with 30 feet of tin foil wrapped all around it. Eating dinner was like a mini Christmas, it took me a good 5 minutes to get to the prize.
I smile every time I open the kitchen drawer to get a baggie and grin at the huge roll of tin foil we always seem to have.
In my family growing up we didn't really use tin foil, we were a saran wrap family. It's easier to see the leftovers that would eventually grow fur and get tossed, completely logical.
Mike's family, apparently, was different.
I worked the late shift at the call center while we were dating. One evening he told me to come over after work and he would have a picnic ready for us to enjoy at the nearby park. I imagined he was going to pick up subs or KFC (this is before celiac diagnosis). Turns out he cooked a hot meal all by himself. I arrived at his home just as he was arranging the food on the plates, complete with stuffed mushrooms on the side. Then out came the tin foil. He ripped off about 30 feet and began wrapping and wrapping and wrapping those plates as if we were going on a rocket ship. Cos tin foil totally belongs on a rocket ship.
After we got married, he must have done some of the grocery shopping as somehow we had tin foil. I was still working the late shift and got home after 9pm. My favorite nights were the ones when I opened the front door and saw him watching t.v. on the couch. Following his suggestion to check the oven, I cracked it open to find my cozy plate of food tucked nicely with 30 feet of tin foil wrapped all around it. Eating dinner was like a mini Christmas, it took me a good 5 minutes to get to the prize.
I smile every time I open the kitchen drawer to get a baggie and grin at the huge roll of tin foil we always seem to have.
4.30.2007
love at home
I don't cry often at sentimental things. I do cry, mostly over frustration or anger or times I can't pull the words into my mind to express my feelings. My tears are mostly jumbled words that melt into salt water and escape out my eyes when I am wishing they could shoot fiery darts.
Today a package was dropped at the front door. I was bummed to see it was addressed to my husband. Ultimately bored, I decided to open it and see what book he ordered himself. I was perplexed when I noticed it was from Deseret Publishers (a church-owned bookstore). He doesn't read churchy books.
I became more confused as I opened the box to see the inside package read Willow Something with the word sculpture. Must have been sent by mistake or a free gift, I even laughed out loud at the thought he would accidentally get a churchy statue. Perhaps a bust of Joseph Smith he could keep on his desk?
I peeled the tape from the styrofoam padding and pulled away packing materials to gaze at the prize. My heart sank into my feet. I held in my hands a hand-carved figure of a mother holding her boy the way I often hold Zane, while looking into his eyes. She even has brown hair and a pony tail. My eyes filled with tears. All I could think was that I am the luckiest mommy/ wife in the world.
It's such a simple image of the present time, where I am in my relationship with my little boy. I am barely able to hold him in my arms anymore due to his weight and my belly. I know in a matter of time he will no longer allow such tender moments. The moments that have truly been my favorite parts of being a mother and often forget. In the whirlwind of To Do lists and decisions to be made in our family, this little sculpture brings it all home: just keep loving and holding on tight to each other. Those are the best parts of life we get to taste no matter where we end up or what we are doing. My heart softens every time I look at it while it reminds me I am doing some of the important things pretty right.
What an amazingly unique gift; I really love it.
p.s. I just hope Mike wasn't planning to mail it to his mom.
Today a package was dropped at the front door. I was bummed to see it was addressed to my husband. Ultimately bored, I decided to open it and see what book he ordered himself. I was perplexed when I noticed it was from Deseret Publishers (a church-owned bookstore). He doesn't read churchy books.
I became more confused as I opened the box to see the inside package read Willow Something with the word sculpture. Must have been sent by mistake or a free gift, I even laughed out loud at the thought he would accidentally get a churchy statue. Perhaps a bust of Joseph Smith he could keep on his desk?
I peeled the tape from the styrofoam padding and pulled away packing materials to gaze at the prize. My heart sank into my feet. I held in my hands a hand-carved figure of a mother holding her boy the way I often hold Zane, while looking into his eyes. She even has brown hair and a pony tail. My eyes filled with tears. All I could think was that I am the luckiest mommy/ wife in the world.
It's such a simple image of the present time, where I am in my relationship with my little boy. I am barely able to hold him in my arms anymore due to his weight and my belly. I know in a matter of time he will no longer allow such tender moments. The moments that have truly been my favorite parts of being a mother and often forget. In the whirlwind of To Do lists and decisions to be made in our family, this little sculpture brings it all home: just keep loving and holding on tight to each other. Those are the best parts of life we get to taste no matter where we end up or what we are doing. My heart softens every time I look at it while it reminds me I am doing some of the important things pretty right.
What an amazingly unique gift; I really love it.
p.s. I just hope Mike wasn't planning to mail it to his mom.
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